Sarah vs The Caveat Emptor
by Rachel Smith Cobleigh
Summary: * Former CIA agent Sarah Walker has been cut adrift. Her memory of the previous five years was erased, and then she was lied to and sent to kill a man whom she discovered was her husband. This is the story of the day he tried to win her back. [Canon-compliant follow-up to the series finale] [M for sexual content, discussions of faith, and references to prior violence]
1. Chapter 1

SARAH VS. THE CAVEAT EMPTOR

A _Chuck_ story

by Rachel Smith Cobleigh

* * *

 _1_

 **January 2012**

 **San Pedro, California**

The deserted beach was unfamiliar, yet here she stood at the top of the rise, on the edge of the parking lot, feeling as though there was one spot on the sand, just _there_ , where if she could only reach it, she would have a hope of... of _something_.

She sighed and put her hands on her hips as she glared out at the ocean.

Why was she even _here?_ She should just get back in her car and leave town, as she'd planned.

But a faint echo of something had caught her eye when she saw the exit sign off the freeway, and the strange sensation had persisted, tugging her on from one turn to the next, until she had pulled into this empty beach lot and finally turned off her car's engine in disgust. What was she chasing? A ghost of her past? A feeling that if she could just find the _right thing_ , it would all come flooding back to her, and she wouldn't be so fucking _lost?_

God, it was so frustrating, this being on the edge of something and not knowing what the hell it was.

Well, she was done standing on the edge.

Sarah stepped out onto the sand and picked her way down to that mythical, ridiculous, unfamiliar spot in the middle of nowhere. Pausing when she reached it, she turned in a slow circle, looking at everything in the hopes that something would spark a memory, but nothing did. The beach was empty, just a half mile of unexceptional sand in both directions. The parking lot lay behind her, and before her, the mild tossing gray-blue of the Pacific Ocean stretched to the horizon. A lone boat drifted a mile or so out to sea on her right, and she squinted, frowning up at the overcast sky. Cloud cover kept the faint hint of late-afternoon sunlight from reaching her.

Fitting. She sighed, wrapped her sweater around herself—it wasn't cold, but it wasn't exactly beach season, either—and sat down on the sand. What was she doing here? This spot wasn't special at all. Still, there was a kind of wild, peaceful beauty here. She wanted to be alone right now, and this was as good a place as any. She usually preferred to keep moving, to always be prepared for the next mission, but what did she have to lose by spending a few more minutes here? She'd already lost everything.

She pulled the sweater more tightly around herself and tucked her hands under her arms.

She hadn't let herself stop to think before now; her days had been a whirlwind, caught up in circumstances that she hadn't understood at first. When she had finally begun to grasp the truth of them, she had fled from the implications, pouring all of her skills and resources into stopping the man who had stolen so much from her: burned-out former CIA agent Nicholas Quinn.

Quinn had destroyed her life, lied to her, and used her to steal something called "the Intersect glasses" for him. He had told her that her mission was to kill someone, a man she later discovered was the one person in the world who cared the most about her—although of course, at the time, she hadn't known who her target really was. But once she did, she had put everything she could into stopping Quinn.

Her self-imposed mission had been successful: she had killed Quinn only the night before. Of course, she hadn't done it alone.

Then there had been the debriefing, which had taken a couple of hours, and a pile of paperwork for the local police department, and the reports to be filed with the CIA and NSA, and when that was finished, there were too many eyes on her, silently wanting, expecting, questioning. But she had no answers for them, and she was exhausted, the adrenaline having long since drained away. So she had gone back to the only place she could bear, her hotel room, and she hadn't even changed or brushed her teeth before she had collapsed on the bed.

Then, today. They had called to tell her that General Beckman would be convening the mission post-mortem at 1300 hours, and of course Sarah was expected to be there, given that she had played a central role in bringing about the mission's successful conclusion. Sarah had dragged herself out of bed, dreading the eyes she would soon have to face. After showering, she had chosen to armor herself with a professional outfit that did not invite casual, friendly conversation, and she had put on minimal makeup. She wasn't dressing up for anyone. She did not plan to linger once the meeting was over. She hadn't known where she would go next, but she knew she couldn't stay here. There were too many eyes.

Or rather, there was one pair of them, in particular, that she couldn't face.

And so she had been professional and concise, and had observed, listened, and kept her own counsel. After tying up the loose ends, NSA Director General Diane Beckman had congratulated them all on a job well done and said, with a parting smile, that if any of them ever wanted to save the world again, they knew where to find her.

So Sarah could have her old job back, if she wanted it. Or some form of her old job. There was no way that the CIA would simply let her pick back up where she had left off. She was more of a liability than an asset to them right now, with her Swiss-cheese memory.

Because two weeks and three days ago, she had woken up in an unfamiliar hotel room in the middle of the afternoon, with no idea of how she had gotten there, or even where she was.

Waking up, Rip Van Winkle style, five years older and in a life that wasn't hers, had left her reeling and adrift. She was accustomed to riding life's ever-changing circumstances, and she took pride in expertly surfing those waves, most of the time. But this life? She was utterly out to sea, lost. And not just by a little, but by so laughably _much_ that if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes, she never would have believed that the circumstances of this new life were even possible.

It was science-fiction-cum-fairy-tale, unbelievable on so many levels. Yet the people she found herself among acted like it was just business as usual, when it was _anything_ but.

Her persistent amnesia wasn't helping at all.

Who might she contact to find her bearings? The man who had originally recruited her into the CIA, Director Langston Graham, was dead, as was her field partner—and lover—Bryce Larkin. The only two people at the CIA whom she had come close to trusting were gone.

She couldn't contact her former team, the C.A.T. Squad. Sarah knew there was a traitor among them, so it would be dangerous to expose her tactical weakness. Not to mention that she was apparently no longer a CIA agent, and her former coworkers probably wouldn't be willing to talk to her about much, if anything.

She didn't know where her father was, and she had no way of contacting him. He regularly burned his phones. He would call her when he needed a favor.

She couldn't call her mother, not as long as Ryker and his gang were still after the baby.

So who could Sarah turn to now? Why had she never noticed before how isolated and friendless she was? How few people she could truly rely on?

General Beckman seemed to be a potential ally, but Sarah had no memory of ever working with her before. Was Sarah willing to work for this woman now, taking orders, traveling the world, trusting that she wouldn't just be a patsy again, allowing yet another stranger to use her as a lethal weapon?

And since when did Sarah have any qualms about being an assassin? It was what she had signed up for when Director Graham recruited her.

But it wasn't the same, not anymore, because whenever she thought about returning to that life, she kept seeing one face, his eyes begging and betrayed, as she had kicked him down a flight of stairs. The thought of becoming that cold, ruthless assassin again made her stomach turn over.

She _could_ be cold and hard, but when he took a bullet for her, when he looked at her, she didn't _want_ to be. She wanted to be the woman that he saw instead. But who _was_ that woman?

Unbidden, a stray thought without context came to her, in his voice:

 _"You better be careful, Sarah. One day, you might actually turn into a real girl."_

As opposed to the block of wood she became when she had to take a life, she assumed.

It wasn't a bad metaphor.

Sarah frowned and rocked forward, digging her heels into the sand. Snaking her arms under her legs, she rested her forehead on her knees. She was only thirty, but she felt older than that—and, paradoxically, younger, because she only had about twenty-five years' worth of memories. But her _soul_ was weary.

Over the course of those missing five years, it seemed that she _had_ become a real girl. Two weeks ago, John Casey—John _Casey!_ Of all the burned-out, hard-bitten agents in circulation, he was the _least_ likely to have gone soft like this!—Casey had given her a DVD of her Project Bartowski mission logs.

Morbid curiosity had filled her as she pushed the DVD into the player and sank down on the bed to watch herself as she, over the course of two years' worth of logs, transformed from Sarah Walker, Ruthless Spy, into Sarah Walker, a human woman in love with a sweet dork who made her laugh and blush and feel.

She had watched the woman in the videos soften by inches, usually unwillingly, until she realized she was helplessly in love. Then it was heartbreaking to hear the despair in her voice, as she faced working in close quarters every day with a man who had her heart but could never be permitted to know it.

The mission logs were terse, however, and what details they provided were sketchy. It was impossible to make out the forest for the trees. All she knew was that she had been assigned to protect one Charles Irving "Chuck" Bartowski, because he had been the Intersect—which didn't make any sense. What _was_ this Intersect, exactly, and how could a person _be_ it? Wasn't it just information stored in a pair of sunglasses? Which _also_ didn't make much sense—and it boiled down to Chuck somehow being in possession of a huge amount of U.S. counterintelligence data. He could perform intelligence analyses that made him uniquely valuable to the U.S. government, and he was therefore a target of both foreign agencies and domestic terrorists.

But he wasn't considered a direct security threat himself, which implied that he hadn't hacked into either agency to get the data. And in the mission logs, she had clearly referred to him as if he were merely a civilian, so he wasn't a CIA or NSA agent and thus hadn't been given the data by legitimate means.

Then how had he gotten access to all these secrets? And what did "getting the Intersect out of his head" even mean?

It was all very confusing. What _was_ clear was that Chuck Bartowski, the human Intersect, had been her asset.

Watching the mission logs, Sarah had been able to read between the lines—until they had eventually blurred and then disappeared altogether—to see what sort of hell this assignment had become. It had all been depressingly simple, except that her growing feelings for Chuck during those early years had made it terribly complicated. Fraternization between intelligence officers wasn't usually an issue, but between a handler and an asset? Especially someone who was apparently the most valuable intelligence asset the country had? From the implications of some of her recorded statements, Chuck had given the U.S. a unique, unprecedented edge over both foreign and domestic threats, and over the global network of organized crime.

Pursuing a relationship had absolutely been out of the question. If she allowed her feelings for him to affect her actions, she would have been deemed compromised and her replacement would have arrived within a matter of hours. How could she do what was necessary to protect him if her emotions were clouding her judgment? She had been assigned to protect him because she was the best the CIA had, and she sure as hell wasn't going to let anyone else do a half-assed job in her place. So she had suffered in silence, pushed her heart as far back as she could, and made damn sure that he was safe, each and every day.

Sarah grimaced and sat up, crossing her legs and tucking her feet underneath her. She tugged her sweater closed and frowned at the tossing gray waves. She had certainly failed at _that_ mission since she had woken up. Not only had she not protected him, she had gone to great lengths to hurt him and the people he loved.

And _still_ he cared about her, and had thrown himself between her and Quinn's bullet without even a moment's hesitation.

What had she ever done to deserve him? She _must_ have changed a great deal in those missing five years for him to be willing to go to such lengths for her now. She owed him her life. How could she ever repay him? She knew what he wanted, but she couldn't give it to him. He was in love with a woman who no longer existed. How could she ever hope to be that woman again?

The mission logs gave her a few clues as to her transformation, but the logs hadn't covered the full five missing years. They had stopped abruptly, and Sarah didn't think it was because the DVD had reached its capacity. Something in the situation had altered. Given how she, Chuck, Casey, and Chuck's odd little bearded friend Morgan seemed to have been operating as Carmichael Industries, a team of independent spies-for-hire, a vast amount about their situation had obviously changed. She was no longer working for the CIA? Casey was no longer with the NSA? And Chuck was no longer the sole human Intersect, apparently. Not if there were Intersect glasses floating around, where anyone could put them on and download the Intersect data the glasses contained.

That still sounded like science fiction to her, but given how everyone talked about the Intersect glasses, that seemed to be how they worked. The technology had apparently evolved beyond what little she could glean from her old mission logs. Even Morgan acted like an expert on all things Intersect, and she didn't want to start speculating about how _he_ had gotten himself mixed up in all of this.

What had happened?

She felt disconnected and hollow, as if Quinn had scooped a huge chunk from her chest and then shoved her out into the world to limp around with several internal organs missing... and she couldn't even remember what the organs were, or what they were supposed to do.

She was so lost.

She grasped at what threads she had. The final video on the DVD hadn't been one of her mission logs. It was a recording John Casey had made of himself, likely only a short while before he had brought the DVD to her.

"Walker. If you're watching this, then you've gotten this far, and you've seen the highlights of our first two years' worth of missions. Then you and Bartowski went AWOL—" Casey's expression soured, like he had a bad taste in his mouth. "It's a long story, ask him to explain it to you—and shortly after that, he ceased being a mere asset and became an agent. Then you two had your wires crossed for a while, but you eventually sorted yourselves out and got married." Casey's stony features softened slightly. "I was one of your groomsmen." Sarah had blinked at that, but Casey was still talking. "—'s a good man, Walker, and a damn fine spy, the second-best I've ever worked with." Casey _almost_ smiled, but then the light went out of his eyes again. "After _another_ long story, which ended right before your wedding, we all ended up out on our asses."

Sarah's mouth had dropped open and she had narrowed her eyes, but the onscreen Casey hadn't paused to explain.

"So we went into business for ourselves as Carmichael Industries, a private security firm. It's been a rocky six months, but it's been an honor. You wanted out—God knows this life isn't compatible with raising a family, I don't blame you—and we were closing up shop." Casey's mouth flattened into a grim line. "That's when Quinn showed up, about three weeks ago. He kidnapped Chuck and, to save him, you knowingly chose to download a faulty version of the Intersect—another long story, I don't have time right now, sorry—and we used it to track Quinn and his thugs to Japan, where we got to Chuck. The point is, the faulty Intersect wipes out memories every time it flashes, and Quinn knew that. He managed to get the drop on us and captured you." Casey's lips twisted. "Before we could get to you, Quinn apparently showed you specific triggers and forced you to flash until he had wiped out all your memories of the whole Intersect mission. We found some of the patterned cards he was using on you. Then he lied to you and sicced you on us."

Casey's frowned deepened. "I'm sorry, Walker. I really am. I just hope you can find your way back. Whatever happens, though, if you need anything, you call me, got it?"

He gave her a nod, then reached up and switched off the camera.

Sarah had sat staring at the blank TV screen for a while after that.

Now, she wanted to kick herself for finding it easier to believe Quinn's lies than Chuck's heart-on-his-sleeve, so-obvious-now-it-hurt truth.

She believed what Chuck had told her, but it wasn't enough. She only had facts. She didn't _feel_ any of it.

She wasn't devoid of feelings; she was just empty and confused. Chuck had somehow changed her, not just over the course of the missing five years, but again over the course of these last few days since she had woken up. She was no longer the ruthless, wildcard assassin, but she wasn't Sarah Bartowski, his wife, either.

The air was growing cooler, and Sarah pulled her sweater snugly around herself, not quite ready to leave yet. The sun had drifted closer to the horizon, leaving a strip of burnished gold across the sky, above the gray of the clouds and the ocean. She would need to go soon, to get in her car and drive away, leaving this last amorphous hope behind. She would drive up the coast, find a hotel, get her bearings, and decide where to go from there. Perhaps she would get on a flight to Langley. She still had her skills, even if she didn't have her memories. Sarah could find a place at the CIA. It wouldn't be the same as she remembered, but she could make it work.

And maybe... She was still married, technically. Maybe she could come back and visit Chuck from time to time, see how he was doing. Maybe they could Skype when they were apart. Maybe she could get to know him again, and try... again. She knew he wanted to, and although she wasn't ready to restart a relationship yet—never mind commit to a marriage with a stranger—she could honestly say that she wasn't entirely opposed to the idea of him. Well, if she were honest, she wasn't opposed to the idea of him at all. There was nothing unappealing about him. He was kind of handsome, in a tall, earnest, nerdy sort of way, and although he was gangly, he had a grace that was all his own. He wouldn't have been her type before, but then her type hadn't been the sort to love selflessly. People in her world used each other, minimized their attachments, and moved on. She never could fully trust anyone.

She still didn't fully trust him, but when she wondered what she wouldn't trust him with, she had a hard time finding something, and that frightened her a little bit. She only had a few days' worth of memories of him, but he had proven himself over and over, in small ways and large. His moral compass was extraordinary. How had he ever survived in the spy world? It was the kind of world that chewed up people like him and spat them out—or got them killed. Yet here he was, apparently five years on, this strange anomaly: a top-notch spy who went out of his way to avoid killing people.

In the past two days, she had seen him in action. He had a brilliant mind, and was unusually good with computers. He could be relied upon in hand-to-hand combat. He could work a cover. But he had an annoying tendency to talk about his feelings during missions—while they were in Germany two days ago, trying to track down Quinn, Chuck had kept trying to tell her their story, until she finally shut him down. They hadn't had time for the distraction!—and he could be a complete idiot sometimes.

She shook her head and exhaled a short, disbelieving laugh at the memory of how, to avoid shooting Quinn two days ago—Chuck had only had a Desert Eagle, and at that close range with rounds that large, pretty much all of his possible shots would have either killed Quinn instantly or done enough damage that the man would have bled out on the sidewalk before an ambulance could arrive—Chuck had aimed the gun upward and fired off a warning shot instead.

But the warning shot had hit the helicopter Casey was in above them, thus forcing the pilot to do an emergency landing in the middle of the street, and allowing Quinn to escape amidst all the resulting chaos.

Despite that fiasco, they had regrouped, recaptured the Intersect glasses before Quinn was able to use them, and had prevented him from blowing up a concert hall full of people to cover his tracks. And Sarah had finally gotten to put a bullet in Quinn's chest, where it belonged.

Of course, that victory had been bittersweet. Sarah had known that Chuck and his sister, Ellie, had been preparing to modify the Intersect that was loaded in the glasses. They were planning to add in all the images and files they could muster that covered the missing five years of Sarah's life. Ellie was a neurologist, and she believed that she could use the Intersect to help kick-start Sarah's brain into retrieving her lost memories.

Then, if Sarah walked through the spaces of her old life, if she spent time with her loved ones, doing familiar things, she would flash on each trigger and her mind would rebuild itself. The theory involved something about the firing patterns of neural networks, and how memories were stored in the brain. Sarah hadn't followed most of it, and she wasn't sure if she believed it, but she had hoped. She wanted her life back.

But there had been a bomb in the concert hall and, with Quinn lying dead at their feet, the only way to stop it from going off in time was to use the Intersect to look up the specs of that particular bomb, and analyze which components needed to be disconnected to defuse it. Which meant that one of them had to put on the glasses and download the Intersect. Chuck had been the best candidate.

Unfortunately, the glasses were single-use; each Intersect that was loaded into them was designed to erase its data once the download was complete, as a security measure to prevent unauthorized downloads, and the only way to reload the glasses was to get to an Intersect terminal—the last known one of which Sarah had helped to blow up two weeks earlier, on Quinn's orders.

So, armed with the Intersect, they had defused the bomb, saved the oblivious concert hall full of people, and had gone back to their base, Castle, to wrap everything up and return the Intersect glasses to the U.S. government for safekeeping.

Sarah wondered how "safe" the glasses would really be. This kind of technology wouldn't stay under wraps for long.

But that wasn't her problem. No, her problems were myriad and impossible enough to make her want to crawl into bed and drag the covers over her head, despite how useless that would be. Where the hell was she going to go now?

Sarah had initially been prepared to continuing working for Carmichael Industries, because it was a living, at least until she got her feet under her and figured out where she was going to go next. But she, Chuck, Casey, and Morgan had been in the process of dissolving Carmichael Industries and reconstituting it into something else when everything had happened with Quinn, and given how uncertain Sarah felt about _everything_ right now, she wasn't prepared to build a new business from the ground up. Casey was leaving, his skill set no longer needed in the brave new world, whatever it was supposed to be. The Buy More—a big-box electronics store where Chuck and Morgan worked their cover jobs—and Castle, secretly located underneath it, had been sold to new owners. Sarah wasn't clear on how Carmichael Industries had come to own either property in the first place, but it seemed that the sale of both was apparently where she and Chuck had gotten the money to buy their dream house.

And Sarah was definitely _not_ ready to move into a "dream house" when she couldn't even remember the dream it was supposed to represent.

She was sure Chuck would tell her about it, if she asked, but she wasn't sure she wanted to ask. Would hearing about this "dream" just make her ache—or worse, would she feel nothing? It wasn't just that she would have to endure disappointing him again, but the thought that she had had a dream, and lost it, was just too soul-leeching.

What did she want? Where did she want to go? The CIA didn't hold the same appeal anymore. The thought of spending the rest of her life alone, moving from place to place, doing other people's dirty work, forced to insinuate herself into the lives of people she despised, lying, sleeping with a gun under her pillow and walking with knives strapped to her ankles... it wearied her. The life of an elite field agent used to at least get her adrenaline pumping, and the satisfaction of having done a difficult job well was an indisputable upside, but she could tell almost no one about her successes or her failures. It was an essentially isolating line of work, and Sarah didn't want to be alone anymore. Not when she had seen that dream life in the framed portraits, had carved her name in that dream house, and had, for just a few days, experienced what it felt like to be cared for by an unlikely, motley little family. Not when she had had a taste of how it felt to be loved so completely, even if she hadn't been able to receive it at the time.

But how could she go back? She couldn't be that person he remembered. She didn't know how to be, and the thought of trying to put on a performance—

No. She couldn't do it.

She couldn't go back, and if she were honest, she didn't want to go forward alone.

But she _was_ alone. No one knew where she was. _She_ didn't even know where she was.

A few plovers picked at the sand, moving from spot to spot, racing down to the water's edge and then back up as the waves seethed in. She let her gaze drift out over the ocean, watching the waves lap at the shore, the whitecaps rolling over and over, their movements endless and calming. The thin line of gold over the horizon, now edged with pink and orange above, and grayish-lavender and blue below, was brilliant and beautiful, in a muted sort of way. It echoed in her like a live, restless painting of how she felt, writ large.

She didn't have to know where she was, and maybe she wasn't alone after all. She had the oddest sense that this wild, peaceful panorama was meant for her to see, and to simply be a part of. The ocean waves would keep rolling in. The sun would keep drifting through the sky. The plovers would find a place to sleep when the sun went down. And tomorrow, when the sun came up and the plovers came back out, the waves would still be there, rolling in and sliding out again. She would still be there, too. Perhaps not sitting in this spot anymore, but tomorrow would be a new dawn, a new day, a new life...

For some reason, that phrase relaxed her. It felt familiar, just as this spot on the beach did, even though she didn't understand why.

She felt like the Painter was saying that she was going to be okay.

She closed her eyes, drew in a deep, cleansing breath, and slowly exhaled, feeling the salty whisper-brush of the ocean breeze wash over her, gently tugging at tendrils of her hair before swirling on to play somewhere else.

 _Yes, this._ This was where she wanted to be.

She opened her eyes. The sun was drifting closer to the horizon, and she knew she would have to leave the beach soon, when the air grew too cool for her to be comfortable in this thin sweater. But perhaps she could stay for a few minutes more. Taking a deep breath, she let it out with a sigh.

She didn't hear his footfalls at first, but as he drew up beside her, she felt the small tremors in the ground, and she looked up just as he sat down. He rested his elbows on his knees and, after glancing at her, he looked out at the ocean.

"I was hoping you'd be here," Chuck said quietly.

* * *

 _Author's Notes_

I do not own any _Chuck_ properties, nor do I make any money from the writing of this story.

—

Story excerpts and characters, created by Josh Schwartz and Chris Fedak, are taken from _Chuck_ _Seasons 1 - 5 (2007-2012) © College Hill Pictures Inc., and Warner Bros. Television._

—

This story is released under the GPL/CC BY: verbatim copying and distribution of this entire work are permitted worldwide, without royalty, in any medium, provided attribution is preserved.


	2. Chapter 2

_2_

Sarah frowned. How had he known where to find her?

"This place is important, isn't it?" she asked, looking at him.

Chuck raised his eyebrows and nodded, still not meeting her eyes. "Yeah, yeah... very much."

Her heart had led her here, to this spot, where he would find her. She wasn't sure how to feel about that yet.

He turned to look at her. "This is actually where you told me I was going to be okay," he said, and she met his gaze, wondering what he meant. "That I could trust you... and that's exactly what I'm doing now. I'm asking you to trust me."

Could she do that? She didn't know him, not really.

"Sarah, I don't—" he began, "—I don't want anything from you. I... I just need you to know that wherever you go, I'll always be there to help you."

And she nodded, knowing it was true. She wasn't alone. God, after how she had treated him, she didn't deserve him, but here he was, again, offering her the world.

"Someone you can call." His voice broke a little. "...whenever."

 _God_. She was crying. She looked at him, and saw tears reflected in his eyes.

"Trust me, Sarah," he said. "I'm here for you always."

Oh God, could she do this? Chuck did things to her, made her feel so intensely _alive_ , and safe, and loved, that she couldn't bear his gaze any longer and she looked away, letting out a little breath of disbelief.

They sat in silence for a long moment, and Sarah decided. She wanted to know. It wouldn't be the same as remembering, but if she heard it from him, maybe... maybe it would be enough.

"Chuck," she said. He turned to look at her, and she braced herself. "Tell me our story."

She watched his features begin to relax, until he gave her a tentative, closed-lipped smile. She answered with an encouraging one.

"Yeah, yeah, ah... Where to begin?" He looked down. "Well, ah, it started—" He blinked, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "—with a guy who worked at a Buy More."

She laughed softly, imagining him standing at the Nerd Herd desk, tall and gangly and self-deprecating, with a pocket protector and an easygoing nature, entirely oblivious to the world that was about to descend on him, and that Chuck made her smile.

"And then one day, an old college friend of his sent him an email that was filled with secrets." Chuck paused, as if steeling himself. "And then the next day, his life _really_ changed, when he met a spy named Sarah..." Chuck looked up at her. "...and he fell in love."

Tears stung her eyes.

"It was just another day working the Nerd Herd desk at the Buy More," he said, "and I was on hold with some vendor when you walked in. You were... you _are_ the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. But more than that, it was the way you looked at me, like you really _saw_ me, and you liked what you saw. You had loosened a screw in the battery compartment of your phone—not that I knew at the time that you'd done it intentionally—" Chuck smirked at her. "—and I fixed it for you. Then you made eyes at me, which I was pretty sure I was imagining." Chuck shook his head and laughed, looking down. "It was a textbook seduction. Anyway, another customer needed me, so you left your business card. If it hadn't been for Morgan, I would have thrown it in the trash. I had fixed some pretty girl's phone, and that was the end of it."

Chuck lifted his head and looked at her. "But that _wasn't_ the end of it... because you came back the next day, and you said, 'I'm not sure if I'm able to receive calls, 'cause I never got one from you.'"

Sarah laughed. "I actually _said_ that?"

"Word for word." Chuck grinned.

She briefly widened her eyes. "That is so cheesy. Did you laugh?"

"What? No! No way. I just stared at you. Morgan answered all your questions on my behalf."

Sarah giggled.

"Then you asked me out, and I must have said yes. I don't remember. Frankly, by the time you left the store, I wasn't even sure if I had woken up that morning." Chuck smiled and shrugged. "It had kinda been a weird twenty-four hours. I was getting flashes from the Intersect and they were pretty disorienting."

"What _is_ the Intersect, anyway?" Sarah asked.

Chuck laughed, but it was without humor. "Ah... how do I describe it? It's a top-secret, experimental, massive, combined U.S. intelligence database that is designed to be loaded into the human brain via subliminal encodings in a series of images. Well—" He twitched his shoulders. "That's what it was _then_. Now..." He shook his head and laughed. "God, this sounds so crazy. Now, it's that, plus something out of _The Matrix_. You know that scene when Trinity downloads the helicopter-pilot skill pack, and suddenly she's an expert at flying a helicopter?"

Sarah shrugged and frowned. She had never really been into watching sci-fi movies.

Chuck's eyes widened and then he chuckled nervously. "Right. Yeah. You—you saw _The Matrix_ for the first time last year, with me. Sorry. Not thinking." He waved a hand. "Anyway, around the time I downloaded the Intersect 2.0, I found out that it wasn't just a passive database, but an active computational engine." He gave an admiring shake of his head, his smile lopsided. "It's pretty freakin' amazing, actually." His smile fell away. "And it's a huge pain in the ass."

At Sarah's questioning look, he shrugged and explained, "The technology is incredible. I went from being an awkward nerd to being an expert in kung fu, parkour, a couple dozen foreign languages, marksmanship..." He caught her confused expression and put his hands out, palms up. "Sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me back up a bit." He flashed her a grin that made her smile back.

"Okay, so. Our first date. Well, it was for me, anyway. You were still just being a spy. Although..." Chuck's brow furrowed slightly. "You once told me that you fell for me some time after I fixed your phone and before the end of our date, when the two of us and Casey defused a bomb, so maybe you _weren't_ just being a spy." Chuck gave a soft laugh. "Huh. I never really thought about what you meant before... because when you told me that, I was too busy being stunned that you had just said you loved me." His gaze met hers, and then he suddenly squeezed his eyes closed, his hands briefly tightening into fists. Flinging his eyes open, he said, "Sorry. Sorry, I'm just scrambling this all up. I'm—I'm nervous."

She gave him an encouraging smile.

His features relaxed slightly, and he went on. "I was nervous that evening, too. You were so amazing, I was certain that you'd suddenly stop and realize you were sitting across from the wrong guy. But, miraculously, with each thing I said, you seemed to relax and enjoy yourself more. You kept smiling, and laughing, and your eyes made me feel like I could do no wrong. I even said some wince-worthy stuff, but you didn't laugh at me."

She gave him a half-smile. "Like what?"

"You want me to repeat my most embarrassing material?" he asked in an incredulous, half-offended tone, but he was smiling at her.

"Well, apparently it didn't put me off at the time."

He tilted his head down and eyed her. "I was just an assignment. You were being paid to laugh at anything I said."

"But didn't I say I fell in love with you then?" She arched one eyebrow and let a tiny pout tug at her lips.

He gave her a knowing look, then sagged. His capitulating expression made her fight to keep a smile off her face.

"You said that you'd left D.C. to escape the bad end of a long-term relationship, and you had a lot of baggage. So I offered to be your very own baggage handler." He started to wince, but she only smiled.

"That's sweet."

He waved her off. "You're just saying that."

"Okay, yeah, it's a little bit cheesy, but... it's sweet. Bryce's betrayal hurt. You turned an awkward, painful memory into a moment of acceptance and support."

Chuck's eyes narrowed. "You remember...? Oh, of course you do. Bryce left before you ever found out about the Intersect. Those memories are still intact?"

She hugged herself tighter and looked out at the ocean. "Yeah. But they don't feel... fresh. They feel like an old pain that's faded." She drew in a deep breath. "How did he die?"

Chuck took a moment to respond. "He died trying to protect us." Chuck sighed. "Our friendship had its ups and downs, but at the end of the day, I think he was trying to do the right thing. You and I just didn't understand until it was too late. I don't think he ever _wanted_ to betray us." Chuck swallowed, then went on. "He was supposed to be the guy who got the Intersect 2.0 loaded into his head, not me, but he was shot by some rogue agents, and it was up to me to complete his mission. I was with him when he died." Chuck swallowed as he looked at her. "I'm sorry, Sarah."

She sighed, glancing briefly at him before returning her gaze to the ocean.

"Ah, so, yeah..." Chuck continued. "Let's see. The CIA and the NSA had a joint task force that designed the Intersect Project after 9/11, to comply with Bush's request that the various agencies cooperate more. But they didn't want to sacrifice the security and separation of their individual databases, so the plan was to entrust only elite agents with the combined intelligence, in the limited fashion that the Intersect allows. Bryce had been on the short list for the CIA, and just before he emailed me all of the encoded images, he blew up the only Intersect terminal in existence. I opened the email, spent something like eight hours involuntarily staring at thousands of images, ended up with a splitting headache, and passed out. Then the program fried my computer's hard drive."

Sarah blinked. "So _that's_ how you ended up with all that intel!"

Chuck nodded.

"Why didn't they immediately transfer you to a secure holding facility?"

Chuck pressed his lips together, raising his eyebrows and tilting his head. "They wanted to. I refused to go. I didn't want to leave Ellie. We'd already lost our parents without any explanation. I couldn't do that to her, too. And it wasn't my fault that I had ended up with all of these secrets in my head. Why should I have to be imprisoned for it? You guys needed me more than I needed you. Casey wanted to just tranq me and drag me there anyway, but you decided to take responsibility for me."

Chuck frowned. "After we defused the bomb, I drove here, to this beach. I spent the night just sitting here, trying to figure out how I could possibly keep this from Ellie and Morgan. Trying to understand why Bryce would send the Intersect to _me_. None of it made sense. I was a nobody. And now, what, I was going to be hunted down, by my own government or by somebody else? Lots of somebody elses? I couldn't decide which option was worse, and who could I talk to about any of it?"

He smiled. "Just after dawn, you came down here and sat beside me. It turned out you'd tailed me, and you'd been watching me the whole night. Or—" He exhaled a soft laugh. "—you'd been watching _over_ me. My own personal guardian angel." He gave her a lopsided smile, his eyes warm, and she swallowed. He looked away again. "You told me that I could go home to my family and friends, and that I'd work with you guys. That was when you asked me to trust you. So I did."

She blinked and followed his gaze toward the ocean, then frowned. "They must have tried to get the Intersect out of your head as soon as possible."

"They did, but the scientist they sent turned out to be a traitor who just wanted to sell me to the highest bidder, and despite you and Casey trying to hide me, I was an idiot and exposed myself—not, that's not what I meant. I kept my pants on—"

Sarah laughed.

Chuck dropped his head.

"It's okay," she said, smiling. "Keep going."

He blew out a sigh and lifted his head to look at her with a rueful smile. "In a misguided attempt to save you, I accidentally revealed myself to be the Intersect, and Dr. Zarnow kidnapped me, flying me off in a helicopter. They thought I was tranqed, but I had just fainted. I woke up, saw my opportunity to get the upper hand, but then accidentally shot both him and the pilot with the tranq pistol..."

Sarah winced. "But you had the, the... Trinity helicopter skill pack, right?" she asked, sitting forward.

"No, this was _way_ before that," Chuck said. "I just had a passive database in my head that triggered flashes whenever I ran across something that was already in the database. I had no clue how to fly a helicopter."

Sarah frowned. "So how did you survive?"

"I called you, and you kept me calm and talked me through the controls until I landed safely." He was looking at her with warm admiration in his eyes. "I was _so_ buzzed when I climbed out of that copter!" He gestured excitedly. " _I had just flown a helicopter!_ " Chuck dropped his hands with a grimace. "...and then you tore me a new one."

"Damn straight," she muttered, and he laughed, then sobered.

"It took me a while to understand why," he said. "I eventually realized that you were using anger to hide your fear and your relief. But at the time, I just thought you had _really_ wanted to drive home the point that I wasn't prepared to survive in your world, so I _had_ to obey you and Casey and stay safe, away from the action." Chuck linked his hands and worked at them. "I never entirely learned that lesson, though, because if either of you were in danger, I _couldn't_ stay in the car—not to mention that it was _never_ safe in the car, anyway." Chuck shook his head, exhaling a wry laugh. He lifted his eyes to meet hers. "I knew that you guys were great at your jobs, but if you had come to harm because of my inaction, I would never have forgiven myself. Because the whole reason you were putting yourself in danger in the first place was to protect _me_."

She shook her head. "I would have just been doing my job. If it wasn't you I was protecting, it would have been someone or something else. It wasn't your job to protect me. It was your job to stay safe."

Chuck gave her a lopsided smile. "I know that. We've been over this ground before."

"Sorry," she said.

"No, you don't need to apologize. You're right. But put yourself in my shoes: I had fallen in love with you, and watching you run into danger was just torture. I _couldn't_ sit still. Sarah, it was _you_."

Speaking of torture... She swallowed, and thought about her video self in the mission logs.

As if he had read her mind, he said, "Speaking of torture, let me tell you about our cover relationship."

She laughed, then sighed.

"Yeah..." he said, shaking his head, but he was smiling. "The thing was, it would have been a lot easier if you weren't so nice to me."

Sarah looked down at the sand in front of her.

"But you were," Chuck continued. "Even when we were alone and no one was watching, you still treated me with kindness and laughed at my stupid jokes. You went out of your way to show me that _I_ was important to you, not just as the Intersect, but as a person." He smiled, a faraway look coming into his eyes. "You even put on a Princess Leia metal bikini for me once, for that first Halloween, because you had known it would make me happy, even though you had never seen _Star Wars_ and didn't understand why it mattered so much to me.

"Being in a cover relationship with you worked out okay, at first. I mean, even being in a fake relationship with you was pretty amazing. I got to see you every day. We worked well together. I made you laugh." He smiled and looked at her. "You made me laugh. You have a _great_ sense of humor, Sarah. Don't ever let anybody tell you otherwise."

She gave him an incredulous look. "I don't make jokes."

"No," he corrected. "You don't make _obvious_ jokes. You make quiet, elliptical ones. You have a dry, subtle sense of humor that requires a significant degree of intelligence to appreciate, and it's sexy as hell."

"Did you just compliment yourself?"

He chuckled and tapped the side of his head. "To match you? I'd have to be a certifiable genius."

"Nice." She smirked at him. "You're not so bad, yourself."

"Thanks." He grinned. "But really, I love it. The way you'll march me right off a cliff, and I won't realize it until I'm already well on my way to face-planting. That delayed reaction—it's brilliant." He chuckled, shaking his head fondly. "You'd think after this long, I'd be able to see it coming, but I still fall for it, every time." He narrowed his eyes. "Maybe it's because you make jokes with exactly the same face as when you're being completely serious..."

She smiled and looked out at the waves.

"I get the sense," he said softly, and she looked at him, "that not many people understood your jokes before—or even knew when you were making one."

She shook her head and looked away again. "When nobody laughs, you start to think you're just not that funny."

"But it's the furthest thing from the truth. Even Casey likes your sense of humor."

She swallowed, blinking something back, and smiled at him. "I guess I finally found my tribe." She sighed and looked down at the sand. "I just wish I could remember you all."

"I'm sorry. We can stop if you want to."

"No," she said quickly. "I want to hear more."

"Okay." He suddenly chuckled. "Well, it had been a few months, and we'd been through a bunch of missions and cover 'dates', which were occasionally awkward but never awful. It was just friends going out to dinner and a movie, and despite your best efforts to hide your true feelings, you still gave me hope. You have a great poker face, Sarah, but your eyes can't hide a thing. At least, not from me." He gave her a sad smile before looking back out at the ocean. "We enjoyed ourselves, most of the time. Then Ellie and Devon wanted to go on a double date with us, and we found out they thought we were going the 'traditional route', taking it really slow, because you hadn't slept over yet." Chuck rolled his eyes. "Captain Awesome tried to give me a pep talk about having sex—I think it involved a bicycle metaphor or something?—and you overheard the conversation."

"'Captain Awesome'?"

"Oh—heh. That's what Morgan and I used to call Devon."

Sarah chuckled, recalling the first time after waking up that she had met Devon. Yeah, even with Clara strapped to his chest in a BabyBjörn, Devon Woodcomb had managed to look like a poorly-disguised superhero.

"So after he left," Chuck continued, "you brought over a couple mugs of fresh coffee and announced that, to protect the cover, you thought we should make love. I inhaled the coffee and burned the inside of my nose."

She laughed and looked down.

"You didn't mean for _real_ , of course."

"Of course."

"But the next night, you slept over. And to sell it, you wore this—this..." Chuck's gaze grew distant and he shook his head. "...this sheer, deep purple negligee, and you were... well, it felt like you were trying to kill me."

Sarah smiled.

"It was _not_ fair." He pouted. "In one moment, you'd tell me that we could never be together, it was just a professional relationship, we were just doing cover maintenance, and then in the next moment, you'd do something like _that_ , and I'd lose my train of thought and wish I could disappear into the nearest bathroom without everyone knowing _exactly_ why I was in such a rush to get there."

She laughed with him.

"Well, actually," he mused, "I didn't _really_ want to find myself alone in a bathroom, but..." He suddenly cut himself off and smiled.

"What?"

He shook his head.

"What?" she repeated, more insistent this time.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

She gave him a look. "You're talking about jerking off in a bathroom because of me," she said dryly. "How much worse can it get?"

He looked hurt, but she just grinned, so he laughed, then sighed.

"Well..." he answered, squaring his shoulders and resettling his elbows on his raised knees. "After we got married, and bought the Buy More and Castle..." He gave a small shrug, and the corner of his mouth tugged up. "Well, we owned the place, didn't we? So we couldn't get in trouble for misusing government property..." He raised his eyebrows and his eyes twinkled. "Let's just say the storage closet has gotten a _lot_ of extracurricular use."

Her eyes flickered away from his and then back again, and she gave him a contained smile, her lips pursed. "I'll bet Casey _loved_ that."

Chuck laughed. "Oh, yeah. He's gotten his revenge, more than once."

Sarah shook her head, _really_ wishing she could remember some of this.

"I'm going out of order again," Chuck sighed. "Sorry about that."

"It's okay. So we had a cover relationship?"

"Yeah." Chuck sobered. "It stopped being as much fun after that first night you slept over, though. It all just really sank in: I couldn't be in a real relationship with you, but because we had to maintain a cover, I couldn't be in a real relationship with anyone else, either. Sure, the physical frustration wasn't much fun, but what was worse was that I couldn't _talk_ to anybody about it all. Only you and Casey knew the truth, and neither of you wanted to listen to me unloading on you. Oh, and that night was the first time one of our spy missions collided with my private life. Ellie ended up in the hospital because of her proximity to me."

Chuck frowned at the tossing waves. "I hadn't chosen this life, and I couldn't escape it. Dr. Zarnow had been the leading NSA scientist on the Intersect project, and he was the best hope for getting the thing out of my head, but after he tried to kidnap me and sell me... well, there went any real hope of getting rid of it. It seemed that they had put so much effort into figuring out how to get the Intersect _into_ someone's head, they hadn't really thought much at all about how to get it back out again. I mean, they hadn't expected it to end up in the head of a civilian with no combat training.

"And since I couldn't be trusted to protect myself, I was tracked, bugged, taped..." Chuck's nostrils flared. "I had to ask permission to do even the smallest things, and I had to have a constant escort for everything."

Sarah nodded and frowned.

"I tried to be a good sport about it all, but it kind of sucked."

"So I tried to make it easier by being nice to you."

"Yeah." He smiled. "Honestly, despite my complaining, you were one of the few highlights of this crazy life I'd fallen into. So much about the situation was just stressful and confusing. I was the only one with all of these secrets in my head, and thus the only one who could perform the cross-referencing analyses, so it's not like Graham or Beckman would let me just live out my days in peace. No, they kept putting me in dangerous situations and expecting me to flash on things, assuming that you and Casey would protect me—and you did, but things weren't always in your control, or in mine. I had no control at all over when the Intersect made me flash on something. Anything—a face or a voice, an image, an object, a snippet of audio—could trigger a flash. The flashes would leave me disoriented for a few seconds, and if enough of them occurred close together, I would end up with a headache. And me with a headache is a pissy, disagreeable me who isn't inclined to do what you or Casey say, which just meant I created more problems than I solved, half the time. Also, I often had my own ideas about how to do things and I didn't ask permission, because there wasn't time for it. Since they usually worked out—mostly—I got more confident about refusing to do things the way I was supposed to."

Sarah winced. "And Graham and Beckman let you keep roaming free? I'm surprised they didn't put you in a bunker."

"Oh, they wanted to," Chuck admitted. "It was a constant threat. But nobody understood how the Intersect worked—at the time, I was the only known person to successfully make use of it—and the intel I provided was too valuable to discard, so until they had built another Intersect terminal and gotten the project properly off the ground with trained agents, I was all they had."

Chuck looked at her. "Actually, I suspect that I owe my continuing freedom more to you than to anything else. You argued that because no one knew what could trigger a flash, or how I did what I did, it was best to keep me emotionally stable, surrounded by my friends and family, and the familiar. Thank you for that." He gave her a sad smile. "Sometimes, it felt like you were the only one who remembered that I was a human being, not just a computer on legs."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it didn't take me long to figure out that I was little more than an annoyance to the higher-ups," Chuck replied. "For example, they referred to me—even in my presence—as 'the asset' and 'it'. At first, you were the only one who insisted on using my name when talking about me."

Sarah frowned. "Seriously?"

"When I got a bit belligerent once with Beckman, Casey took me aside afterward and showed me the documents that had been hastily drawn up about me, in case I tried to mount a legal defense against being used or imprisoned." Chuck's face tightened. "Legally, as long as I was the Intersect, I wasn't an American citizen with all the usual rights. I was the property of the U.S. government. They could do whatever they wanted with me, and I couldn't stop them." Chuck frowned. "I was pretty sure it wouldn't hold up in court, but I was making eleven bucks an hour at the Buy More. I didn't have money for a lawyer, not for something this big."

"Didn't the government pay you for your service?"

"No, not at first. You don't have to pay _property_." Chuck gave her a cold smile. "I eventually received two years' worth of back pay when my father got the Intersect out of my head. The U.S. government settled its debt quite handsomely, actually. I have no complaints on that score."

Sarah smiled. "Did you go on vacation or something to celebrate your freedom?"

"I _wanted_ to. I even invited you to come along, but you had already been offered a new assignment back in D.C., and the thought of going on a vacation without you..." Chuck grimaced. "It wouldn't have been much of a celebration for me, honestly."

"So what did you do with the money?"

"Well," he said, his answering smile warm now. "Since the spy world had managed to completely destroy Ellie and Devon's wedding and reception hall—again, because they were unknowingly getting dragged into the whole mess surrounding me—I used the money to put together a beachfront wedding for them the next afternoon." Chuck looked up and pointed. "It took place right over there, actually."

Sarah glanced toward the spot, but of course there was nothing to see now, except sand and boulders.

Chuck smiled at her. "You helped me make the arrangements. I couldn't have done it without you." He paused, growing serious, and his eyes were a little damp. "I couldn't have done any of it without you, Sarah. I couldn't have coped with all the repeated traumas and upheavals. But you somehow made it all be okay. You defended me, and you were kind to me when that was what I needed. You were cool and distant and professional when _that_ was what I needed. You protected me, rescued me, taught me, and angrily corrected me." He smiled at her through his tears. "You made me want to be better, to do something that mattered, to rise to meet and exceed your expectations."

He swallowed and exhaled a shaky breath, looking out at the ocean. "You saw something in me when everyone else just saw a loser who worked at a Buy More, and I wanted to be that man you saw, the one who could do anything, have anything, that he set his heart on." He gave her a sad smile. "But when it came down to it, as cool as the Intersect and the spy world are, the only thing I really wanted... was you."

She looked away, a lump in her throat.

"Working together wasn't all bad," he said with a smile. "In fact, sometimes it was a lot of fun. I remember there was this one day, early on, when you brought me into the back storage room of the Wienerlicious, where you worked your cover job—"

Sarah winced. "I hate the Wienerlicious uniforms," she said. "The girls always look like dominatrix Heidis or something."

Chuck laughed. "Well, you looked great in yours."

"Yeah, I _bet_ I did." She shot him a look, and he grinned, unfazed.

"That Wienerlicious got a _lot_ more business from the adolescent male population of Burbank after you started working there."

"Oh, God," she said, rubbing her forehead.

He chuckled and nodded. "But you hated how your clothes smelled after working there all day, so you got the CIA to change it to a frozen yogurt shop about six months in. I like froyo. I took a lot of my lunch breaks there." He smiled. "So anyway, we were back in the storage room, figuring out an alibi for why I'd disappeared to help you and Casey the night before, and you suddenly heard your manager coming. So you kicked my feet out from under me, unbuttoned the top few buttons of your shirt, climbed on top of me, and started kissing me." Chuck's eyes went wide and he sat bolt upright, his arms as straight as boards. Sarah giggled, and he laughed with her, relaxing again. "It was the first time you'd ever kissed me, even though it was just a cover kiss. Then the manager opened the door, saw us, and said something—I have _no idea_ what it was—" Chuck pouted. "—and you pulled back. But, wow! Best. Escape. Ever."

She laughed.

"Speaking of close shaves..."

And he launched into a tale about Morgan, and Casey; about the weirdos at the Buy More, fellow Nerd Herders Jeff and Lester, and green shirts Skip and Fernando, and the whole oddball family of Buymorians for whom he had a strange affection; and about Devon proposing to Ellie. The story involved the sudden disappearance of every single thing that wasn't bolted down at the Buy More, the theft of the store manager's mounted blue marlin, Devon's lost family heirloom engagement ring, a rogue Fulcrum agent who discovered that Chuck was the Intersect, Sarah's desperate play to keep Chuck from being imprisoned by the CIA 'for his own safety', the freezer of the Wienerlicious, Jeff and Lester's pervy stalker videos of busty female customers, and Morgan's well-meant, but utter, cluelessness. By the end of Chuck's tale, he had reduced Sarah to guffaws and tears of laughter.

Seen through his eyes, with his way of describing things and caring about people, and always narrated with his self-deprecating sense of humor, the story made her laugh helplessly in one moment, then ache in the next, because she could see how much pain the humor masked.

It was shortly after that, he said, when they had ended up trying to defuse a bomb and failing, and, thinking they were going to die, Sarah had kissed him for real. The bomb didn't explode—it turned out to not even be a bomb—but they had avoided talking about the incident for a while.

Not long after that, they had another mission, and part of the mission prep had involved their performance kiss for Roan Montgomery—she marveled at that: they had gotten to work with Agency legend Roan Montgomery?!—and how the kiss had started out with Chuck, at Roan's command, merely aiming to prove to Roan that he could handle the upcoming honeypot op, but then it had almost immediately dissolved into the both of them forgetting themselves—and Montgomery—for a moment too long.

Sarah had a moment of recognition and blinked, then laughed softly.

"What?" Chuck asked, pausing in his storytelling.

She felt warm all over. "I think I remember that."

He turned toward her with a look of delight. "Really?"

"Um." Her cheeks felt hot. "Yeah."

He narrowed his eyes—she could tell that he knew she was hiding something. Still keeping his eyes narrowed, he tilted his head down toward her. When that didn't work, he wiggled his—rather thick—eyebrows, and she giggled.

Pleased, he grinned and sat back up. "If you don't mind my asking, _what_ do you remember?"

"I remember..." She closed her eyes. What was it? It was a feeling of the world unexpectedly spinning, and then she was in his arms and he was kissing her with such confidence and skill that she had to hold on to him to stay upright. He had made her world spin? "You just... took me by surprise, and you were so... good... that I—" She clamped her lips shut. God, she never talked about this sort of thing with _anyone_ , never mind admitting it out loud to a man she barely knew!

But she _did_ know him. That memory was real. Her _body_ remembered him.

It was proving that to her right now, and she had to shift to dispel her—not entirely unwelcome—discomfort.

Chuck made a noise. "It's okay, you don't have to—"

"You made me soak my underwear." She immediately turned to watch his reaction, which was well worth the price of admission.

He froze beside her, his mouth dropping open and his eyes growing round, and then he burst out laughing and his whole face exploded into a smile, his nose even wrinkling in a way that made her insides flip over. Not that she needed much prompting for _that_ at the moment.

"You—?" he exclaimed. "No _wonder_ you ran out of there so fast!"

She didn't remember that part, but she could easily imagine it, and she grinned.

He was still laughing softly, and she saw his hand twitch toward her—but then he stilled it and grew quiet again, shifting and resettling himself. He hadn't touched her since he had sat down beside her, and for the first time, she found herself wishing that he would.

But he just continued his story. "A few months later, just before Christmas, actually, we found ourselves in a hostage situation. It turned out to be coordinated by Fulcrum—by then, they had figured out that the Intersect was somewhere in the store, but they didn't know _I_ was their target—and during a quiet moment, I found you and gave you your Christmas present."

"You gave me a present in the middle of a hostage crisis?"

"Well, I didn't know if we'd make it out of there alive," Chuck said quietly. "It seemed as good a time as any."

"So... what was it?"

He smiled. "My mother's charm bracelet."

Sarah frowned. "But I thought you said we weren't together yet."

"We weren't," he said softly. "But I wanted you to know, even if I wasn't allowed to say it, that you had my heart."

Sarah looked away, recalling the mission log she had recorded that night. It had been obvious that he had her heart, too, but she couldn't say it out loud then, either. In the video, she had tried to recount that whole horrific evening—she had come so close to losing him—in a dispassionate tone, but it had been an exercise in futility, and her voice had eventually choked off. Finally, she'd just held up the wrist with the bracelet, smiled through damp eyes, then dropped that hand with a sigh and reached up with the other to turn off the camera.

She was sure that night was when she had finally begun to realize she was in love with him, and that she had no idea what to do about it, even if it had taken her another six months to say those words out loud.

"A few months after that," Chuck continued, "when I was searching for my father—who had been kidnapped by Fulcrum because he was the original creator of the Intersect—I was finally deemed too uncontrollable and a liability, and you and Casey were ordered to deceive and sedate me, so I could be transported to a secure underground bunker where I'd probably never see the light of day again." Chuck turned to look at her. "But when you came to get me, you couldn't go through with it. So instead, we went AWOL and followed a lead to find my father. You committed treason to protect me and help me find some closure—and possibly my freedom, because my father had said he knew how to get the Intersect out of my head."

Chuck looked at her, his eyes bright. "You sacrificed everything to help me. I felt so bad for putting you in that position, but you just brushed it off. You kept putting my needs first." He frowned down at his hands. "The lead seemed like a dead end; there was no one there. So we got a room at some seedy little motel in a nearby town. One bed, of course. It would raise fewer eyebrows if people just thought we were a run-of-the-mill couple. But you wouldn't let me sleep on the floor, because you said it was gross." He smiled. "And the next morning... well, I woke up to you spooned against me, still half asleep, just... unconsciously caressing my hand. I'd never been turned on by that before, but somehow, discovering that you do that when you're half awake, and you were comfortable with me, and you wanted to touch me— _God_." He laughed. "I had never been so turned on in my life!"

She shifted and smiled. Her hands... yeah, they were sensitive. She loved the feeling of someone stroking the backs of her fingers.

"Well, I responded. Hand, and—well, yeah. All of me." He gave her a lopsided smile. "And you woke up, and rolled over, and you looked _amazing_ , all mussed and warm and soft..." Chuck's eyes rolled back as his eyelids fell closed, and he hummed, giving a small shake of his head before he opened his eyes again. "Yeah, one thing led to another, and it was going _so well_..." He smiled. "So I raced into the bathroom to find my jeans and get the condom out of my wallet—but what I found instead was—"

Sarah was leaning forward, hanging on his words, and he paused.

"What?" she asked. "What was it?"

Chuck made a low sound in the back of his throat and looked at her. "A note. It read, and I quote, 'IOU one condom. Your pal, Morgan.'"

"No!"

Eyes wide and nostrils flared, Chuck nodded. "Yes. Two _years_ spent waiting for this moment, and—" He made a brutal swiping grasp in midair.

"A clear case of justifiable homicide."

" _Exactly_."

Sarah laughed. Chuck shook his head, dropping it, his whole frame sagging, and he laughed with her.

"So what did you do?"

"The only thing a sane man _could_ do," he said, lifting his head. "I went out to find some condoms." She chuckled as he continued, "Except that the moment I poked my head out of our room, Casey grabbed me. Beckman had sent him to bring us back, dead or alive. Then everything kind of went to hell, because it turned out that our lead _hadn't_ been a dead end, and Fulcrum had found us, too. You'd gotten dressed by then, and we got the jump on them and escaped, and after a bunch of rollicking hijinks, we found my father, got the Intersect out of my head, and barely escaped being bombed by a squadron of F-16s. And then it was back to Burbank, because Ellie and Devon's rehearsal dinner was the next evening, and the day after that was their wedding, when Roark showed up with what was left of Fulcrum and laid waste to the wedding venue, and—"

"Wait, Roark? As in _Ted_ Roark, the founder of Roark Instruments?"

"Yeah, Ted Roark. He used to work with my father. Stole a bunch of his ideas to start the company. Kind of an Edison-Tesla thing, I guess."

"A what?"

Chuck glanced at her and smiled. "Never mind. Nerd reference. Anyway, the point is that between rescuing my father, surviving Fulcrum, and getting Devon and Ellie married by the end of the weekend, we didn't have much time to talk. And with the Intersect out of my head, there was no reason for you and Casey to stay in Burbank any longer, so you had been given a new assignment and were expected to leave the next morning. But then we got dragged into 'one last mission'—let me just state, for the record, that I _never_ want to hear you utter those words—"

Sarah laughed.

"—which ended with Bryce dying and me downloading a whole new Intersect, the Intersect 2.0, which came with all the skill packs. And then I could fly a helicopter if I ever needed to. Not that I did, but I wouldn't be surprised if that was in the 2.0. I mean, it had Spanish guitar, ballroom dance, and Thai in it, and those were just some of the things I didn't expect. I never encountered a foreign language I wasn't fluent in, although most of what I used the Intersect for was martial arts, gymnastics, parkour, and marksmanship. It was such an incredible rush, suddenly being able to do all these insane things at an expert level."

"But it made you dangerous."

"Yeah. Yeah, it did. And it was made worse by the fact that I couldn't entirely control it. Beckman gave me three choices: make the transition into being a full-fledged CIA agent, submit to indefinite imprisonment until a way could be found to remove the Intersect 2.0, or become the focus of an all-agency manhunt with a kill order." Chuck gave a short, humorless laugh. "The choice seemed obvious, but for you."

"But for _me?_ " She frowned. "What did _I_ have to do with it?"

He looked at her. "Sarah, you had _everything_ to do with it. I could have just destroyed the Intersect 2.0 terminal without downloading it into myself first."

"I didn't _make_ you do it, did I?"

"No, no... you weren't even there when I did it. I chose to become the Intersect this second time, because I was _choosing_ the spy life. I knew I could do it, I could be the Intersect. I could help a lot of people. I did it for my family and my friends, to protect them. I did it because I love them. I did it... because I love you."

Sarah swallowed, discomfited, then frowned. "It sounds like the choice _was_ obvious."

He shook his head. "You didn't want me to become a spy."

She looked away, a sinking feeling in her chest. "I was afraid you'd be changed by it."

"You remember?"

"No..." she said slowly. "I just know what this life does to people."

Chuck was quiet for a long moment. "What it did to you, you mean."

"Not just me. But, yeah." She looked down at the sand, then reached for a handful of it. The grains were cool and barely damp against her skin. She let them fall through her fingers and off the sides of her palm, the breeze carrying them a few inches away, until she finally brushed off the last of the grains and sat back up. Rubbing her palms over her thighs, she sighed and settled again. "Bryce... it was just something he said once. Or, rather, he tried to say, but I didn't want to hear it." She looked out over the tossing gray waves. "I think he regretted becoming a spy."

Beside her, Chuck nodded. "It's a one-way trip."

She turned to regard him. "How did you ever manage to avoid making it? You're... different from the rest of us. You still _care_ about people." She swallowed, her voice going quiet. "You still believe in them when everything says you shouldn't."

He smiled sadly. "A lot of it was due to you. I never wanted to kill anyone, but I can do it if I know it's necessary. But being able to kill a person merely on somebody else's say-so... that's a different thing altogether. You never wanted me to pass my Red Test."

Sarah nodded, remembering her own Red Test, the final hurdle required before she would be instated as a full CIA agent. At first, she hadn't been able to kill the woman who was her target, and had just passed her in the street. But then, Sarah had seen the woman reaching into her purse, and panic made her response instinctive—she had spun and shot, a direct hit that brought the woman down instantly. Sarah had started to approach, to search for ID, for a weapon—but there had been no gun in the woman's hand, and then nearby sirens had forced Sarah to flee the scene. Sarah still didn't know who the woman was, or why she had been ordered to kill her.

In the years since, Sarah had always had more information about her targets, and she was confident that her subsequent kills were justified. But that first one...

She turned to look at Chuck. "You became a full agent, though, didn't you?"

"Yes," he answered, furrowing his brow. "But I couldn't kill my target. Not if it meant losing myself... and losing you. Casey knew that. Unbeknownst to me, he followed me. I cornered my target, had him on the ground... but I just wasn't _sure_ , you know? I couldn't—" Chuck's face contracted. "I couldn't do it. It didn't feel right. The guy started to get up—and Casey shot him from behind me. You were the senior agent presiding over my test, and you didn't see Casey. You thought I had killed my target. You turned in your report, and I was instated... and I lost you, because you thought I wasn't your Chuck anymore. And I couldn't tell you the truth about what happened, because then my status would be revoked, and I'd be transferred to a holding facility until they could find a way to remove the Intersect. Not to mention that Casey would end up in federal prison."

Chuck paused and sighed. "Several months earlier, before I started my field agent training, you'd tried to give me a fourth option: go on the run with you. We'd agreed to meet at a train station in Prague, after you scattered Bryce's ashes. You had train tickets, false identification, money, and safe houses all lined up. You were willing to go AWOL with me again, just to keep me safe. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't be selfish and have what I wanted, because it would put you in unnecessary danger. The CIA had spent a couple million dollars building a training facility for me. People were depending on me. I could make a difference. But it meant rejecting your offer. I _never_ rejected _you_ , but it sure felt that way to you. I get that, now. You had gone out on a such a limb, trying to protect me." He frowned out at the water. "So we parted ways, and I spent six months in training."

Sarah followed his gaze, watching the waves toss, until he shifted beside her.

Chuck winced. "I failed out. I couldn't control the Intersect well enough to be a reliable solo field agent. Sometimes I'd have great moments, other times I'd just be seized by the realization of all that I was caught up in—how could I possibly have thought I could do this? And I didn't have you there to tell me not to freak out." He sagged. "You weren't returning my calls or my texts or my emails. I even tried hand-writing a letter and snail-mailing it, but... nothing. I had hurt you, and had chosen to set myself on a path that you were afraid you would lose me to. I didn't understand why you were so afraid of it, but the point was that I had broken your trust."

Sarah played with the edges of her sweater. She would have been pissed off at him, not just afraid for him. Of course she wouldn't want to talk to him; being in contact with her was apparently what had made him want to enter this shadow world in the first place. And she probably would have been angry at herself for falling for him. Offering to use her resources to go AWOL with him was a bad judgment call. Had she really been so far gone? It seemed so unlike her. But she had no reason to believe that Chuck was lying to her, so... she must have done it. She frowned.

Chuck sighed. "Beckman sent me home until they could figure out what to do with me. I was still technically a trainee, so that kept me out of a bunker, but I was directionless. I didn't have a job, I had failed at the one thing I thought I was supposed to become, I had lost you, and... well, yeah. It was a low point. I didn't shave for weeks, and I spent a lot of time on the couch eating cheese balls. I looked—and smelled—like a vagrant."

Sarah exhaled a short laugh. "So what happened?"

"I ran out of cheese balls."

"No, seriously."

"Seriously," Chuck replied. "Ellie refused to get me any more, so I went to the Buy More myself. While there, in addition to being completely humiliated, I discovered that you and Casey were still in Burbank, operating a covert cell out of Castle and trying to crack The Ring, the rogue CIA organization that killed Bryce. It turned out that Fulcrum was only a branch of The Ring, and the infestation in the U.S. intelligence community was a lot bigger than we had thought."

"What a mess."

"Yeah, tell me about it. Anyway, I inserted myself, uninvited, into the op you and Casey were running and completely blew it—which didn't endear me to anyone—but during the course of that mission, the Intersect flashed and gave me good intel, and you got your first edge over The Ring in _months_. But they got the jump on you and me and knocked me out, then took us down to Mexico to interrogate us. I woke up alone in a cell. I was terrified, and I couldn't flash." Chuck winced. "The first interrogation didn't go so well. But when I woke back up, I heard you calling through the wall. You talked me out of my panic, and you told me I could do things that even the best agents you'd worked with couldn't do. You got me to focus on getting us out of there. When they came back in to interrogate me, they threatened you—and suddenly, I had the Intersect again.

"I didn't realize it at the time, but that was the pattern: when I was uncertain about where you and I stood, about what I was supposed to do with respect to you, my control over the Intersect was spotty. But when I knew what you wanted me to do, whether it was to save you or to let you go, I was okay. There was a logic to it. But Beckman thought I was just too weak and emotional for the job."

"The opposite of a good spy."

"Exactly. But it's not that I can't control my emotions. It's that when you and I aren't... working well together, I'm distracted. It's like, there's always this process running in the background, trying to figure out how to solve whatever problem it is we're having. I can try to shove it back and focus on the task at hand, but it doesn't stay down for long. My inner ferret always comes sniffing back out of the darkness and hands me another idea, and if it's a really _good_ idea, the ferret does a backflip to celebrate."

Sarah laughed, and Chuck smiled, giving a rueful shake of his head.

"It's true," he said. "This process turned on the moment I met you, and it's been running ever since."

"That's what love is for you? A program always running in the background? Wow, you _are_ a huge nerd."

"Haaaah." He smirked at her, then sobered. "No. That's just one of the things that happens _because_ I love you. I'm that way with everybody I care about. If there's some break in the relationship, I kind of obsess over it until I can figure out a way to solve it." He gave her a lopsided smile. "It's just that I've been through _way_ more drama with you than with anyone else in my life."

She must have looked uncomfortable, because he quickly added, "Not that I'm blaming you for that. It was mostly just due to our insanely-stressful, complicated circumstances."

He fixed her with a look. "But more than that, the stakes are a lot higher with you. You didn't just start a process running in my brain, you woke me up. You made me want so much more, and you made me believe I could achieve it." He turned his gaze out toward the ocean. "It took a while, though, because when we started working together again, you made it clear that you wanted to keep our relationship strictly professional. And despite what it sounds like, I don't actually have an unhealthy obsession with you. I just care about you... a lot."

He gave her a tight smile. "But if you didn't want me to be anything other than a coworker, I was going to respect that. I figured I'd blown my chance with you, and I wasn't going to be a pest. Besides, what you and Casey needed was a solid third partner—or, rather, a fourth, since Beckman had sent Special Agent Daniel Shaw to oversee my training."

Chuck sighed. "Shaw was everything I wasn't: an accomplished, experienced field agent, completely in control of his emotions, with an absolutely phenomenal record. Perfect scores in martial arts techniques and marksmanship. He was the ideal team leader for our cell, since he had been leading the effort to take down The Ring for several years by then. He knew more about how they worked than anyone else in the CIA. He was bullish and passionate about dismantling their operation. And as if that weren't enough, he looked like Superman."

Sarah arched an eyebrow.

"I'm not exaggerating. The guy was positively heroic. He saved our lives more than once, when missions went south."

"I'm sensing a 'but' coming..."

"Yeah," Chuck said with a long sigh. "A really, really big one. You... you were in some sort of relationship with him. I was never clear on the details, or how long it actually went on. I got the sense that it was brief, that you hadn't been receptive to his advances for a while, but I've never asked you about it. Frankly, I don't want to know."

"Well, there's not much fear of that now, is there?"

Chuck gave a short, humorless laugh and shook his head. "No. Especially because he's in solitary, and I doubt Beckman would give us clearance to talk to him."

She turned to look at Chuck. "He is? What happened?"

Chuck tilted his head back and looked up at the overcast sky. "Oh, _so_ much. So, so much." He straightened and frowned at the vista in front of them. "But first, let me just say: I don't blame you for trying to find something with someone else. I tried, too. I met her on my first solo mission. Hannah. She was great, but I wasn't in love with her. I _wanted_ to be in love with her. I wanted to get over you. You had obviously gotten over me." Chuck looked down. "I'm not proud of what I did. I got her hopes up, I slept with her, and then I hurt her when I had to break things off. I couldn't live a double life, lying to her about what I did for a living... lying to her about being in love with her. It wasn't fair to her, or to me."

He squinted, grimacing. "The whole thing with Hannah made me realize that you were right to fear that the spy life would change me. When I finally broke things off, she said that she had a lot of experience with being lied to and that she'd gotten really good at spotting it. But with me, she had really believed that she'd finally found a nice guy. She said I was the best liar she'd ever met. She wasn't just hurling an insult at me; there was a bit of admiration in her tone, amidst all the hurt." He sighed. "Being a spy is all about being a master of deception and, without actually noticing when it had happened, I had gotten very good at it." Chuck's grimace deepened. "I never used to be able to lie before. I used to suck at it."

"She was right," Sarah said quietly. "You're one of the best liars I've ever met. And that's _saying_ something."

Chuck quickly raised his eyes to hers, and there was a mixture of panic, sadness, and resignation in his gaze. "I swear to you: I'm not lying to you now."

"No," she said. "That's not what I meant. Back in the Intersect room, after I'd stolen the glasses and revealed myself to be working for Quinn, you walked right up to me, despite my having a gun on you, and I couldn't look away. Nobody had ever done that while I had a gun on them before. And then it was everything you said, but more than that, it was the _way_ you said it... You were _incredible_. I even let you lower my gun. I believed that you believed every word. Your eyes... I couldn't even _name_ all the emotions I saw run through them, but I wanted to. It was like you'd put me under a spell—" She straightened with a frown, the dreamy note dropping out of her voice. "—and the whole time, you were switching out the glasses in my hip pouch for a dud pair."

She gave a short laugh and waved her hand in frustration. "I was so focused on your face, I didn't even _feel_ your movements! I didn't realize you'd switched the glasses until I met up with Quinn and handed them over, and he discovered they were empty. Then I was so _pissed_ at myself for letting you get to me. I've been running cons with my father since I was a kid. _Nobody_ cons me."

She frowned and looked away. "That was why I didn't hold back during our fight when we were alone at the house later. You were too good for me to let my guard down again. I couldn't figure out what kind of con you were playing by not interrogating me, and by claiming to love me and then releasing me, but I was sure it _was_ a con."

"Until you saw our names carved in the door frame," he said quietly.

Sarah frowned.

There had been something about seeing those letters—every house she had ever lived in as a child, every time she and her father had stayed somewhere for more than a week or two, she had found a tree and carved her name in the trunk. She had never really had a home, but she could always pretend that this one was finally it. And at least when they skipped town again, she had left a mark that would last even if she never did. There was a trail of trees scattered around the U.S., and even a couple in Europe, with her name on them.

It had always been just her name, alone, in the wood.

But when she saw that door frame, she knew she had carved her name _inside a house_ , and _with his_.

It wasn't a trick, because he couldn't have carved her name just so, with the way she always made the lowercase 'a's look like tipped-over capital 'A's.

 _She_ had carved her name into that door frame. _She_ had marked that place as her home. With him. If their marriage had just been a long con, she _never_ would have made that mark.

She recalled the fleeting impression she'd had in that moment, a sudden flash of memory disconnected from everything before and after it:

 _Chuck's face was lit by flickering candlelight as he frowned down at her, his arms crossed. They didn't own the house yet, but she had just carved her name into the wood anyway. He was shocked that she would do such a thing, but she had done it because she had faith that they would own the house someday, one way or another. Was he going to have faith in them, too? He hesitated before finally smiling and dropping his arms. She handed him the knife and leaned back against him, smiling as she felt him press his lips to her hair, then reach out to add his name below hers_ —

And suddenly, despite holding a gun on him at point-blank range, Sarah hadn't been sure of anything.

A gust of wind blew over her, pulling her hair in front of her face, and she automatically reached up to tuck it behind her ear again. She realized she had been sitting in silence, staring at nothing while Chuck waited for her to answer, and she gave him a tight smile.

"Yeah," she said, pulling her sweater around her again. "Seeing that carving changed everything."

He frowned and watched her for a long moment. "You know as well as I do that the best lies are surrounded by truth."

She hugged herself and looked away with a nod.

"I _did_ mean every word I said in the Intersect room."

She nodded, still not looking at him.

Chuck sighed. "I'm not proud of the fact that I'm a good liar now. I used to think of myself as a good guy, but after what Hannah said..." He frowned. "I knew I couldn't do that to anyone else. So I just resigned myself to being alone, and I focused on the work."

Sarah nodded again. Now he was starting to sound like a spy.

Chuck lifted his head, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out. "Not long after that, I had my Red Test, and Beckman decided it was time to promote me. She assigned me a deep-cover op in Rome, where I was going to be some kind of millionaire ex-pat playboy. She told me to choose a team to bring with me. But when I thought about it, Rome, alone—I mean, I'd be there with a team, but I'd be alone—"

"Yeah," Sarah said. "I know what you mean."

Chuck nodded, his voice quieting. "It just finally clicked for me: you were still the most important thing in my life. What was the point of being a spy without you? So I asked you join my team, but you declined. And when I pressed you on it, you said that seeing me kill my target during my Red Test had convinced you that I was no longer the man you'd fallen in love with. It was over between us.

"By then, I had started to suspect that something was off with Shaw, but I had no proof, and if I raised my concerns, I would have just looked jealous. Which I was, I admit, but that wasn't what was driving my suspicions.

"Shaw was completely committed to bringing down The Ring, even going so far as to sacrifice himself just to give us an edge. Knowing that you cared about him, I went after him and rescued him instead. Once everything had settled down and it was clear that he was going to be okay, I finally just laid all my cards on the table and told you that I loved you. I offered to run away with you, like you'd offered me back in Prague. And you let me kiss you.

"But then you didn't show up at the train station at the time I'd said I would meet you. Instead, Beckman called me back to Castle because she had discovered that it was Shaw's wife you'd killed during your Red Test five years earlier, and that he had just recently learned this fact. Since you were missing, my fears went into overdrive."

Sarah twisted and froze. "Wait— _what?_ "

Chuck nodded. "She'd been a double agent, working inside The Ring to bring it down, but Graham had reason to believe she'd been turned, so he ordered the hit, and you were the agent assigned to do it."

Sarah's eyes were wide as she struggled to take in this revelation. "And Shaw was okay just... working with me?"

Chuck grimaced. "He had taken you off alone, unexpectedly, and I panicked and called in a strike team. I led them right to you—except that Shaw wasn't trying to hurt you. He was trying to reassure you that he had forgiven you, and that he cared about you. So I showed up with a team in full tactical assault gear—we even had a tank—and it was all for nothing."

"Beckman must have been pleased."

Chuck barked out a laugh. "I wasted a lot of money with that one. She wanted to suspend me. My feelings for you were obviously clouding my judgment, which she had always regarded as rather shaky to begin with. But, shockingly, Shaw stood up for me. He acknowledged that I'd made a mistake, but he approved of my loyalty and quick thinking. He wanted to keep the team together, despite everything.

"Shaw seemed to be in complete control of his emotions. He was calm, collected, reassuring. Unflapped. He said that he blamed The Ring for his wife's death, not you or Director Graham. Shaw just wanted to take them down, pay them back for all the pain they'd caused."

Sarah gave a disbelieving laugh. "Nobody can be _that_ controlled. _I_ would have been a mess, just being in the same room with the husband of the woman I'd killed!"

Chuck raised his eyebrows and tilted his head in agreement.

"So what happened?"

"I tried to warn Beckman that Shaw was dangerously unstable, but she just saw Shaw's behavior as that of a true professional. She told me she was moving you and Shaw out of Burbank, to head up The Ring task force in Washington. Then she benched me for being the _opposite_ of 'professional'. So I fell into a black hole, sure that I'd finally lost you to Shaw. And then Morgan found me and—well, the Intersect and alcohol don't really mix that well."

Sarah blinked. "What did you do?"

"He tried to take away my whisky, so I used the Intersect to subdue him and tie him up with all the game controller cords we had. In the process, some of the whisky had gotten splashed on my jeans, so I took them off. Then I ate an entire carton of mint ice cream and started 'misquoting liberally from the works of John Hughes', as Morgan puts it." Chuck winced. "Not the best plan. By the time you found us, I was pretty drunk, and sitting on the floor in my underwear with a plastic _Guitar Hero_ controller in my lap. Actually, the ice cream had sobered me up a little by then, and I was just wallowing. I'm really good at wallowing."

Sarah tried to suppress a smile at the mental image that this all conjured.

"But there you were," Chuck said, "and I realized, even if I looked like a complete fool, that this might be my last chance to ask you one very important question." He paused and waited until her eyes met his. "I asked you if you loved me... and you said 'yes'. You, Sarah Walker, the most amazing woman I had ever met, said that you were in love with _me_... a nerdy guy who worked at a Buy More, a failed spy." His voice was rough. "You said 'yes', and then you kissed me."

She looked down and smiled, almost tasting the whisky and mint ice cream on her tongue, and suddenly there were tears welling up in her eyes. She quickly wiped at them. In her peripheral vision, she saw him swallow.

Finally, when her face was dry, he cleared his throat and resumed speaking.

"That was when you told me you'd fallen in love with me some time after I'd fixed your phone and before we started defusing bombs." He exhaled a shaky laugh. "You said that Casey had just told you the truth about my Red Test, and it was the best news you'd ever heard, because it meant that I hadn't changed, that I was still your Chuck."

Sarah shuddered with an unexpected sob, and quickly pressed the palm of her hand to her eye to keep the tears from spilling out again. Why were his words affecting her like this?

"But we had to go," Chuck continued. "That was why you'd come to my place, to get me for a mission. Some new intel had come in, and you and Shaw needed a third man for the op."

She sniffed and frowned, wiping her hand on her jeans. "What about Casey?"

"Oh—sorry, I forgot to mention that. Casey was just a civilian at that point. It ended up just being a temporary thing, but Beckman had fired him for committing treason a couple months earlier, just before my Red Test. He was lucky that he didn't end up in federal prison. He was trying to protect someone who meant a lot to him, and he hadn't realized he was committing treason at the time, but—it's a long story. Complicated."

"But he was still hanging around Burbank?"

"Well, it wasn't like he had anyplace else to call home. He still had the cover job at the Buy More, although now it wasn't a cover, it was his _only_ job. At least it was someplace to go every day."

Sarah frowned. She knew what it felt like to discover that you'd been cut loose, and you didn't have anywhere to go. Yeah, Casey had taken the path of least resistance.

"So we went to do the op," Chuck said, "but it didn't go so well. Shaw had been turned by The Ring, although we didn't realize it at the time. He tricked us, then planted false intel that led to Paris. Beckman assigned you and him to go, and you guys were on a plane within the hour. I went home for the evening. Then I did something I shouldn't have, because Morgan wasn't working for the CIA yet. I was so impressed with Shaw's hand-to-hand fighting in the surveillance video that he'd grabbed from The Ring compound that I put it on my laptop so I could show it to Morgan. And then Morgan did what he does best: he came out of left field with unexpected insight."

"Which was?"

"Shaw's fight was staged. Shaw had grabbed the video and shown it to us to deflect our suspicion, but when Morgan slowed down the frames, we could see that he was pulling his punches and missing The Ring operatives by a mile. I tried to show the video to Beckman, but the moment she realized I had brought Morgan down to Castle, she suspended me and then blocked my calls.

"So Morgan and I convinced Casey to come out of retirement and help us rescue you, and the three of us flew to Paris, where we got to you just in time, before Shaw had completed the hand-off. He was giving The Ring technical data on the Intersect in exchange for their help with incapacitating you. While Casey took out The Ring's director and his men, I went for Shaw. He had given you some kind of nerve blocker that left you nearly paralyzed, but awake. I tried to take him down, but even though I was using the Intersect, he was stronger than I was, and I couldn't stop him from getting away with you. So I followed you both until he stopped on a bridge over the Seine. I tried to talk him down but he was too far gone, and I had to shoot him to keep him from killing you. He fell into the river, and I brought you back to my hotel room, where you finally passed out."

Chuck smiled and his frame relaxed. "You woke up late the next morning, and I told you what had happened, that Shaw was dead. I was so afraid of how you'd react to the fact that I had shot him... but you were just grateful that I had saved your life." His smile widened into an expression that lit up his whole face as he looked at her. " _Very_ grateful." She chuckled and glanced away, then back at him, her cheeks warm. He continued, "And finally, _finally_ , there was nothing keeping us apart." He gave a happy sigh. "We've been together ever since—" He frowned, making a quick gesture with his hand. "—except, of course, for these last couple of weeks."

She nodded slowly and looked away. It was so much to take in. Then she blinked and frowned. "I thought you said Shaw was in solitary."

Chuck laughed, a humorless sound. "He is."

"But you just said he was dead."

"At the time, we thought he was," Chuck replied. "But Shaw is... resilient. He came back to cause trouble not just once, but twice." Chuck looked skyward and rubbed his eyebrow, exhaling a long sigh. "Can we drop the topic of Shaw for now? Just thinking about him gives me a headache."

"Okay," she said, frowning slightly.

Chuck gave a small toss of his head. "I mean, I can go into all of it if you really want me to, but I'd rather not. At least, not right now." He shot her a pleading look. "I have much happier stories to tell you."

"Okay." She smiled. "Tell me a happy story."

Chuck grinned. "We make a really good spy team. I mean, a _really_ good spy team. Even handcuffed together, we can take out a whole room full of bad guys with guns. It's freakin' awesome."

She laughed.

"So right after you'd woken up and we'd finally made love for the first time—which, let me just say, was totally amazing—we were supposed to report back to Burbank for a new mission. But neither of us was much inclined to do that, so we went AWOL and hopped a train to Zurich. It was dumb, but, well—"

"Sex on the brain," she said dryly.

He chuckled. "Yeah. Sex on all kinds of surfaces."

She whacked his upper arm, and he laughed.

"Sorry."

"No, you're not."

"No, I'm not," he agreed, still chuckling softly. "We had a lot of fun."

He suddenly put his arms out behind him to brace himself and he leaned back, stretching out his long legs and closing his eyes. The sight made something squeeze inside of her.

"God, after three years of waiting," Chuck said with a sigh, "it felt _so good_ to finally just be with you!" He opened his eyes and smiled at her. "And I don't just mean the sex. I mean the talking and the laughing and the finally getting to know you, and discovering things like how you didn't have a favorite song, or even a favorite band or a favorite _genre_ of music. Geez, it was like having a totally blank musical slate on which I could write _anything_. _Huge_ responsibility." He grinned and sat back up, dusting the sand off his hands as he raised his knees and draped his elbows over them again.

She frowned. She had no idea what kind of music she liked.

"Don't worry," he said, still grinning, and tapped the side of his head. "I've got it all up here."

She smiled and looked away.

"Discovering that was discovering another real thing about our first date," he said quietly. "Part of why we had ended up at a club then, dancing—while you threw knives into assassins—was because you couldn't answer the question about what kind of music you liked, so I took you to someplace where I could introduce you to a style I enjoy." He paused, thoughtful for a moment. "You know, now that I'm telling you our story, I'm starting to think our first date was more real than not. Like, up until the moment you saw the assassins, you were actually enjoying yourself."

"I enjoy throwing knives," she said, and he laughed.

"And you're scarily good at it."

She smiled, then tilted her head and played with one of the ankle hems of her jeans. "You know..." she began softly. "If that first date was going as well as you think it was... I had probably been planning to bring you back to my room."

He gave a short laugh. "Yeah. Textbook seduction. You were trying to find out what I knew about the Intersect."

"No..." she said, turning to look at him. "By then, I would have known all I needed to: that you had no clue what was going on. That you were a sweet, funny guy who deserved to have one good thing happen to you before all the rest of the shit that was coming landed on you."

He gave a slow nod, but he wasn't smiling. "Pity sex."

"No..." She fixed him with a patient look. "Me saying thank you for a fun evening. For one night spent with someone who wasn't keeping a careful distance, or planning to kill me the moment I let my guard down."

Chuck frowned and swallowed.

"If I told you that I fell for you then, I meant it."

"I know."

"If sex had happened, it would have been because I wanted it to."

"Thank you." Chuck was quiet for a short while, and then he said, "That means more to me than you know."

She pressed her lips together in a tight smile.

He shifted and cleared his throat. "Well, the train to Zurich got a lot more interesting once we finally left our room." He gave her a lopsided smile. "I flashed on a Basque terrorist, and you also figured out there was something fishy going on, because of your incredible spy-fu instincts." Sarah chuckled as he went on. "So we each pretended that everything was normal, but went off separately to do a bit of spy work to figure out what was going on with the terrorist. We independently came to the same conclusions about him. Then we tried to hide it from each other, because, earlier, we'd both promised to leave the spy life behind us, to be together away from it all."

Chuck paused and grunted thoughtfully.

"What?" she asked.

"I was just remembering what we said. First, you asked me, 'Chuck Bartowski, do you agree to quit the spy life and be with me?', and I said, 'I do.' And then I said, 'Sarah Walker, do you agree to quit the spy life and be with me?', and you said, 'I do.' Of course, after we sorted out the terrorist and saw that we both really enjoyed our jobs, we each admitted that we wanted to continue being spies, and we realized that being together didn't preclude that. So we repeated... the vows, but said 'do you agree to _not_ quit the spy life', instead."

"'The vows'?" Sarah repeated.

"In retrospect, they sure sounded like vows, didn't they?" Chuck murmured, his brows still pulled down. "Why did I never notice that before?"

Sarah shrugged, looking at him. "Being a spy doesn't leave you with a lot of downtime for contemplating your navel."

"That's true enough." Chuck smiled. "You know, I'm really enjoying this trip down memory lane. I'm seeing things in new ways. It deepens my appreciation for them, now that I can see them with 20/20 hindsight."

She was enjoying it, too, if she were honest.

Chuck cleared his throat. "Well, anyway, we went back to Burbank and Beckman let us have it all, and it worked out great. Casey got reinstated, and Morgan joined the team as a provisional trainee. We took The Ring down entirely a few months later. Along the way, through a series of missions and misadventures, we moved from dating—exclusively—to you moving in, to being engaged.

"That last one hit some hiccups. I wanted to ask you to marry me, but I was afraid I'd scare you away by being too intense too soon. We had agreed to take it slow. So I went to Morgan for help with planning it. And then once we'd agreed that the timing was right—"

Sarah laughed. "Wait, the _two_ of you decided when it was right?"

"Hey," Chuck protested. "He was my wingman. I was proposing to Sarah Walker, superspy. How do you think I could possibly have sprung a surprise proposal on a professional spy without some outside help?"

She smirked at him. "Well, _you_ are a professional spy, too."

"Exactly!" he replied. "And any spy worth their salt knows that they're only as good as their team."

Sarah rolled her eyes and shook her head, smiling.

"Actually," Chuck said, "Morgan admitted everything to me later. He confessed to being a double agent."

Her eyes narrowed and her mouth fell open. " _What?_ "

Chuck laughed and put up a hand. "I mean, he was working for both of us at the same time. I thought he was just working for me, but you had figured out that I was planning to pop the question—"

"Great _team_ you had there," Sarah said.

Chuck laughed and shook his head. "Yeah, we didn't stand a chance."

Sarah jutted out her chin and nodded.

He chuckled. "God, I love you."

She turned to look at him, but he didn't flinch away. He just held her gaze for a moment and gave her a gentle smile. Something flipped over in her chest.

"Anyway," he continued, "Morgan had both of us on surveillance and on two separate comms, and he did a brilliant job of juggling it all, never once giving anything away to me. You called the shots, Casey provided backup, and Morgan ran comms. And the whole time, I'm only aware of half of this whole drama, and my heart is beating somewhere up in my throat—"

He waved a hand in front of his Adam's apple, and Sarah giggled.

"I stumbled through this whole speech I had prepared, and you were amazing, and gorgeous, and totally reassuring, and just as I was about to pop the question—"

Sarah's eyebrows were high. "...Yes?"

"Beckman sent in a strike team to arrest you for treason."

"Wait—what? I didn't think Beckman was involved in this proposal op."

"She wasn't," Chuck said with a grimace. "She had no idea it was even happening. She was just doing her job, setting you up to be a double agent so you could go into deep cover for a couple of months, to bring down— Never mind. It's a long story, and I can't tell all of it alone. The point is, my timing sucked."

Sarah sagged slightly. "Oh."

"Once _that_ whole mission got resolved, you brought my mother back from her twenty-year exile in deep cover—like I said, it's a _long_ story—just in time for us all to get to the hospital so Ellie could give birth to Clara. And once _that_ whole ordeal was over, and mother and baby were healthy and safe... it was maybe three o'clock in the morning, and the two of us were just wiped. We were sitting out in the hospital hallway alone, nobody but us and a janitor who was buffing the floor.

"And I thought, 'I don't want to wait one more second. I'm not letting _anything_ else come between us.' So I pulled the ring box out of my pocket—I'd taken to carrying it around with me everywhere—and I got down on one knee..." He swallowed and smiled at her. "And you—you looked so tired, but when you realized what was happening, you—" Tears spilled out of his eyes, and his voice broke. "—you _got down out of the chair_ and knelt on the floor with me, and kissed me, and then you let me slide the ring on your finger, and we just hugged. Neither of us had to say a word."

Tears welled up in her eyes and she wiped at them. Watching her, he just smiled through the tear-tracks on his cheeks.

He drew in a deep breath and blew it out, then pressed his lips together and looked at the ocean. "At first, you didn't want a big family wedding. I thought it was because my family was too intense. I mean, Ellie and Devon had just had Clara, and everyone was cooing over her, and they started asking us what our wedding plans were, and my mother offered you her veil, and Morgan started voicing his opinions about theme colors, and then Ellie started contradicting him, and I think that was when Casey fled."

Sarah chuckled.

"Yeah." Chuck shook his head as he dried his cheeks. "They meant well, but—yikes. We begged Beckman for a mission, and she gave us an off-the-books op to go extract Roan Montgomery from Morocco. He was apparently there without authorization, and, well..."

Sarah smiled. "It's Beckman and Montgomery. They're legendary. It's been going on for a _long_ time."

"So I've heard," Chuck said with a smile. "Anyway, you wanted to elope."

She nodded. Yep. That sounded exactly right.

"I definitely did _not_ want to elope," he said. "I wanted us to share the event with all our loved ones, even if they can be a little bit intense. So I went to Morgan, and he gave me some bad advice about how to handle the situation with you. Then, because I tried it, you and I ended up at odds during the op."

Sarah winced, and Chuck nodded. "Yeah, not doing that again. Anyway, once we got out of there, I went to Roan for advice. He suggested seducing you. Something about how all the 'no's fade when sex is in the air."

She lifted her chin and smiled. She had just been thinking the same thing.

"So he gave me some of his more debonair clothing—from his younger days—and I made a dinner reservation and went back to our place to try to set the mood for taking you out. Except when I got there, you came out dressed as a Moroccan belly dancer. You even had bells on your fingers. It was—you were—it was red. And there were... beads..."

Watching him, she smiled.

He shook himself and shot her a chagrined look. "Sometimes you put it on when I ask. I really like it."

"I can tell," she observed dryly, and he chuckled.

"Yeah. You could, then, too. You danced toward me, and you were saying things, and they all sounded like really good ideas, and I just kept saying yes—until I realized that I'd just agreed to elope with you, and then I snapped out of it."

They shared a laugh.

"So we dropped right back into an argument," Chuck continued, regret passing briefly over his features, "and then Beckman called us back to Castle and we spent the rest of the evening planning the op to get Casey out of Morocco—we'd had to leave him behind, because Roan had stumbled into a bigger plot, and Casey wanted to stay and do recon, but then he'd gotten himself trapped inside a wall, caught under some falling brickwork when there was a firefight at the compound, and he needed us to get him out.

"Along the way, I figured out that the reason you didn't want a big family wedding was because you didn't really have any family to invite."

Sarah looked down at her hands.

"When I pressed you on it, you asked me who would walk you down the aisle, and I realized I had been such an idiot. It was never about my family, it was about yours." Chuck frowned out at the ocean. "So I spent the next couple months trying to track down your friends and relatives. I made phone calls. There was no way to find your father, and you refused to tell me anything about your mother, so I let it go. It was your story to tell, or not. At least I found the C.A.T. Squad."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "You didn't."

"I did. And just so you know, Amy is in federal lockup."

"Oh. It wasn't Zondra?"

"No. It was Amy."

Well, there was one more mystery solved. Sarah shook her head in disbelief and gave a short laugh.

"So Carina and Zondra agreed to be your bridesmaids. Ellie was your matron-of-honor. And I found your Uncle Peter and his family."

"Wow. Were they well-behaved?"

Chuck raised one eyebrow and tilted his head as he scratched his ear. "Well..."

Sarah laughed.

"They cleaned up very nice," he offered. "And I found your grandmother, Ella. We went to visit her at her nursing home. She, ah, didn't recognize you."

Sarah nodded and frowned. She didn't have many memories of the woman, but she recalled that her grandmother had smelled good, and she had given Sarah a favorite pink jacket for her tenth birthday. But Nana Ella had never approved of Sarah's father. Understandably.

"We kept working, going on missions, and planning our wedding in between. Ran into a bump or two, but it all worked out. We were both kind of nervous about the idea of standing up in front of a whole bunch of people and saying our most intimate feelings out loud, so we decided to write them down and practice." He smiled. "We rehearsed the walk, and you put a paper doily on your head to be your veil, and I lifted it." He grinned. "You were so beautiful, and you looked so happy, and I was just in awe of the fact that I could make _you_ , Sarah Walker, happy. I felt like the luckiest guy in the world."

Sarah smiled and looked down at her clasped hands.

"I had written out all of this flowery stuff, trying to express how I felt about you. I had even scripted a wardrobe change and left spaces for applause."

She laughed.

"But you wanted to go first, and what you said... your vows were so simple and profound. You choked me up. I realized I had it all wrong. It was a page-one rewrite." He smiled and shook his head. "So you didn't hear my vows until our wedding day."

She frowned. "We didn't try practicing again?"

"Well, we had planned to do it after our rehearsal dinner that night, but a misguided young woman whom we'd been working with on a long-running mission poisoned you during the dinner, and it put you into a coma."

Sarah twisted to give him an incredulous look. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "Seriously. Ellie and Devon were able to stabilize your condition by lowering your body temperature, but it wasn't going to work indefinitely. They didn't think they could keep you going—without causing brain damage—for more than about a day. So all of us put everything we had into finding the antidote. We had some setbacks. We were captured by Decker and his men as soon as we left the hospital, actually. I tried to use the Intersect to take them down, but they tasered me—" He winced.

A chill shot through her. "Wait, did you say 'Decker'? As in, _Clyde_ Decker?"

"Yes."

"How the hell did we end up in _his_ sights?"

Chuck sighed. "It's a—"

"—long story," she completed with him. "Yeah, I'm starting to see the pattern." She frowned and looked at Chuck intently. "Is he still after us?"

"No. He's dead."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh yeah, we watched him die in a fireball right in front of us. Gertrude Verbanski planted the bomb on him. Dead sure."

Sarah relaxed slightly. "That guy was bad news."

"Tell me about it," Chuck muttered.

"So we've worked with Verbanski Corporation?"

He tilted his head and grimaced slightly. "Ehhh... 'worked with' is kind of a strong term. Mostly, Carmichael Industries has just been in competition with them."

She gave a slow nod, her eyes narrowed. "So, back to your story. I was in a coma? Decker's goons tasered you?"

Chuck winced. "Three times, actually. That was the worst pain I'd ever felt in my entire life. I couldn't move. My whole body just froze up. I couldn't even breathe for a little while there."

Sarah frowned. "Why didn't they just shoot you?"

"They were trying to frame us first, so Decker could justify shooting us."

"Why was Decker even after us?"

"We didn't realize it at the time, but Shaw was blackmailing him, keeping him on a leash and using him to harass us into a corner, trying to force us to do something illegal, something that would make us seem like a clear and present danger, so he could kill us without repercussions."

"Yeah, that sounds about Decker's speed."

Chuck flexed his jaw and nodded. "They brought us back to Castle and put us in the holding cells, and then they used a pair of suppression glasses on me to remove the Intersect.

"The clock was ticking down on your life and I was desperate to get out of there, but we were trapped. They tried to exert pressure on Casey, but he turned the tables on them—" Chuck laughed. "—literally—and knocked them all out, then sprang us from the holding cells."

"Note to self," Sarah said dryly. "Don't mess with Casey."

Chuck laughed, then clearly enunciated, " _Ev_ er."

She smiled.

"We only had one long shot at obtaining the antidote for you," he continued. "We had a viable plan, but very little time to execute it. So I went to Moscow with an asset who could get us into the facility where the antidote was probably stored, but he flaked out at the last second and left me stranded. I didn't have the Intersect, I didn't have the asset, and I didn't have any time left. So I did the only thing I could think of: I walked into the lion's den unarmed and just begged for your life."

Sarah drew in a sharp breath, watching him.

He looked at her and pressed his lips together. "I asked the young woman who had poisoned you to help me save you. I tried to convince her that she didn't have to do this—you were still alive. She could avoid having a death on her conscience.

"But she was too angry with me. She thought I had betrayed her—" Chuck grimaced. "—which was _technically_ true, even if it had been the last thing I'd wanted to do to her, but it wasn't my call—and she had her men start to beat me, while she pulled a gun on me."

Sarah swallowed, gripping handfuls of her sweater. He had made it out alive, she reminded herself. He was sitting right here, talking to her. She forced herself to let go of the sweaty clumps of fabric.

Chuck drew in a deep breath through his nose. "That was when my asset came through. He hadn't flaked out after all; he'd just realized, a bit too late, that my plan probably wouldn't work, and he'd made up a new one on the fly."

"Nice."

"Yeah, he's one of the most brilliant men I've ever met. Genius for strategy. Anyway, he showed up and turned everything around, and with no loss of life, to boot." Chuck smiled. "I like him. So we got the antidote, and because I knew Decker would be waiting for us, we brought a couple dozen Russian special forces paratroopers back with us, and I hacked the CIA mainframe during the return flight, so I could grab enough damning intel on Decker to keep him at bay, by threatening to expose his complicity in several illegal operations."

Sarah's mouth dropped open, and she gave a short laugh. "I'm not sure which part of that I find more difficult to believe. It's all true?"

Chuck grinned. "Every word."

"You really hacked the CIA?"

"Yeah, it's not that hard," Chuck said. "Especially if you've got the NSA Director's private key and a little bit of social engineering expertise."

Sarah shook her head, her mouth still hanging open. "And do I even want to know how you managed to get the Russians to invade Burbank without restarting the Cold War?"

Chuck laughed. "I called in a favor."

"That's quite a favor."

"Well, Casey called in one, too. He and Beckman stopped the Air Force from shooting the Russian jet down when we flew into U.S. airspace."

Sarah blinked. "And all of this was done... just to save _me?_ "

Chuck nodded, giving her a small smile.

"Wow," she managed, looking out at the waves and tugging her sweater closer as the breeze blew a chill through her. She realized that the sun had disappeared below the horizon, and now she could only see the fading orange glow of where it had been.

"You're worth it," Chuck said quietly, drawing her back to look at him, and she saw that his eyes were bright with unshed tears.

Her eyes stung, so she blew out a breath and looked away.

"You were still recovering by the next day," Chuck said, "when the ceremony at the church was scheduled to happen, but you insisted that you could do it, and you did." He smiled. "Everybody pulled together, and then there we finally were, standing in front of each other and all our friends and family. When you said your vows, they were just as beautiful and as humbling as the first time I'd heard them, and my rewrite still wasn't good enough."

Sarah chuckled, and he dropped his head, shaking it ruefully. Then he straightened up and looked at her, his eyes bright.

"So I just threw them out and spoke from my heart. No vows. It was kind of rough and disjointed, because I was so overwhelmed, and there was something about picturing our kids running around like little superheroes, with capes and everything—"

Sarah giggled.

He exhaled a wobbly laugh. "—but I promised that I'd prove to you, every day for the rest of our lives, that I love you. That I'd fight for you. That you can count on me."

Sarah swallowed, unable to look away from him.

"And I looked at you, still— _still!_ —wondering if I was really good enough for you, just me, Chuck Bartowski... and you whispered one word: 'Perfect.'" His voice caught as he said it, but he kept his eyes on hers, letting his tears run down his cheeks without the slightest hint of embarrassment.

"So then," he said, swallowing, and he smiled, "Morgan was on the verge of breaking down while he was officiating, and he could barely get the words out about whether I would 'take this woman to be my lawfully wedded wife'..."

"Wait, _Morgan_ officiated at our wedding?"

Chuck smiled. "Yeah, he got one of those online officiant-for-a-day certificates, issued by the Intergalactic Federation of Planets..."

Sarah laughed.

"...and he was so choked up by the time he got to your half of the words that you just put him out of his misery and said, 'I do' immediately." Chuck gave a soft laugh, and she smiled. "He declared us man and wife, and said I could kiss the bride." Chuck grinned. "So I said, 'Come here', as seriously as I could manage—"

Sarah didn't bother fighting her own smile, and she blinked, her eyes wet.

"—and you did. But! But—you kept your mouth closed." Chuck pouted, and Sarah giggled. "And there was _no way_ I was letting you make our first kiss as man and wife be some chaste little thing." He grinned. "So I spun you around my hip and tipped you down, and while you were too busy laughing to stop me, I planted a solid one on that spot in the hollow of your throat that you always moan a bit for—" He pointed, and his eyes flickered down to her neck.

She raised her hand to touch it. Oh God, _that_ spot. And in front of _everyone?_

"—and when I stood you back up, you gave me a _real_ kiss."

Her soft exhalation of laughter mixed with her tears as he smiled at her, his eyes warm and brimming, and she batted his upper arm with the back of her hand.

Chuck fell into silence as he dried his face, and Sarah did the same, then tugged the sleeves of her sweater back down around her damp skin to protect it from the breeze coming off the water. She let out a long, shuddering breath, feeling full to the brim.

Through his eyes, without noticing exactly when, she had begun to see herself not as a spy first, but as a woman of grace and beauty, whose heart was bigger than she had ever thought possible. That was the woman he loved, spy and friend and, finally, wife.

"You know, Morgan..." Chuck gave a slight shake of his head. "...has this crazy idea."

Morgan. This idea was either going to be brilliant and insightful, or completely inappropriate. Sarah looked askance at Chuck and braced herself. "What is it?"

Chuck shifted and frowned slightly as he glanced at her. "He thinks that with one kiss, you will remember everything."

She gave a short laugh and scratched her ear. "One magical kiss?"

"Yeah." He chuckled awkwardly, looking away. "Exactly."

Sarah laughed. There _was_ a certain fairy-tale quality to how she had woken up in this crazy, beautiful, unexpected life. Maybe Morgan was on to something.

Chuck tried to shrug it off. "I know, it's—"

"Chuck?"

He looked at her. "Yeah?"

"Kiss me."

His face slowly transformed into a tentative, surprised smile, his eyes growing damp again, and her heart squeezed. She _so_ wanted to make this lovely man smile, and as often as possible. She ached to kiss him, but not because she wanted to magically regain her memories. She already had flashes of familiarity, and the truth of all that he'd told her was settling deep inside her with a kind of warm relief. Perhaps her memories would return, perhaps they wouldn't, but she felt less adrift now. She was no longer out to sea, because she was sitting next to her anchor.

Chuck had turned toward her, a flicker of caution still in his eyes, and after a moment, she felt his warm hand slide across her back. _Do you really want this?_

She didn't pull away.

When he recognized that, his smile widened and his brow creased in wonder, and he leaned forward. Her eyes fell closed the instant before his lips touched hers, and although she felt no rush of recognition or memory, what she did feel was exactly right. He didn't push in, and he didn't hesitate. He was just there, as he promised he would be, warm, patient, and... _yes._

Nose still pressed to her cheek, he drew his mouth away for an instant, and Sarah's lips parted, already missing him—but he met her again, gentle and firm, and a tremor of desire ran through her. His arm tightened on her back and his other hand came up to cup her neck and jaw, his skin warm against hers, and despite the shiver of the breeze now coming off the ocean, she was warmed through. She leaned into him, and he broke the kiss to change the angle, meeting her again, slowly growing more passionate. She licked out in question and he was instantly there, matching her movements perfectly. He knew what she liked, and he gave it to her. She was known, accepted, loved.

He made a small moan in the back of his throat.

The sound made her want to cry and laugh at the same time, and their lips broke apart. Foreheads, noses, cheeks still touching, they laughed softly. Her skin was damp with his tears, quickly cooling in the breeze, and a gust blew through her thin sweater, making her fruitlessly tug it even tighter around herself. She opened her eyes and saw his hazel ones, filled with so much joy that it made her want to laugh and sob anew.

There was a question in his eyes, too.

She gave him a sad smile. "I'm sorry, I still don't remember."

He exhaled a short laugh, nodding. He pulled his arms back, clasping his hands and resting his elbows on his knees again as he looked down, his brow creasing. "Thanks for giving it a try."

She bumped her shoulder against his, and he looked aside at her with a chuckle.

"Are you _sure_ you don't remember?" he asked, half-smiling. "Because that is _exactly_ what you did to me the first time we were on this beach together."

She gave a soft laugh, then shivered. His expression quickly changed when he took in the way she was clutching at her sweater. He glanced out at the ocean, toward the graying sky.

"It's getting chilly," he said, his eyes drifting back to hers again. There was a new confidence in his gaze that hadn't been there before, but she knew he was waiting for her. Even after that incredible kiss, he still wasn't assuming anything.

She looked at him with a from-her-soul smile.

"Take me home, Chuck."

He released a half-sob of a breath, his eyes bright, and a moment later, he got to his feet and held out a hand, easily tugging her up when she took it. A fleeting wince crossed his face and he drew in a sharp breath, but when she frowned in question, his expression immediately cleared.

"C'mon," he said with a quick grin, wiping the sand off his pants with one hand and holding hers with the other. "Let's go home."

She wiped off her own pants and nodded, happily settling into a stride beside and slightly behind him as they made their way back up across the sand. She pulled out the keys to her Lotus and he released her, going over to his red-and-white Nerd Herder. When he pulled out of the empty beach parking lot, she followed him, watching the unassuming little car with a warm fondness. Unassuming. Yeah, that was Chuck Bartowski. Unassuming and yet utterly extraordinary.


	3. Chapter 3

_3_

 **Burbank, California**

As they got closer to his—their—apartment, he made an unexpected turn, and Sarah frowned. Where was he going?

She relaxed a minute later when she realized he was just pulling into the nearest grocery store lot. He parked, then got out and waited while she found a spot nearby. When she walked up to him, he smiled and held out his hand, and she took it with a matching smile.

"What would you say to risotto?" he asked, turning and beginning to walk beside her.

Something tickled at the back of her mind and she frowned. "I somehow expected...something pepperoni?"

He gave her a quick look. "You want pepperoni?"

"No..." she answered, still frowning slightly. "You like it, though, don't you?"

His grin made her melt a little. "Well, pepperoni chicken, yeah, that's my favorite dish."

She had remembered something! She almost skipped as they entered the supermarket. Chuck laughed and snagged a shopping cart, releasing her hand.

"I don't eat it as much as I used to," he said.

"Why not?"

"Well," he gave her an amused look, "when I started taking my spy training seriously, you made me improve my diet. Pepperoni is comfort food, but it isn't exactly healthy."

"Ah." She eyed him. "You could get away with a lot now, you know. I'd be none the wiser."

"Nah," he said, pushing the shopping cart along. "I'm in the best shape of my life. I like the man you've inspired me to become."

She smiled.

"So, risotto?" he asked.

"Sure." She looked around the unfamiliar store. "Where to?"

Chuck hummed and pointed, but just as they struck off in that direction, a plump older woman wearing a store uniform and an apron sailed up to them with a huge grin. She put her hands on her hips.

"Ah! The Bartowskis! Where have you two been?"

Sarah blinked, but Chuck just laughed.

"Hey, Magnolia," he said. "We just had some... family stuff to take care of."

Magnolia's gaze switched speculatively to Sarah, and the older woman took Sarah in with a glint in her expression. "Family stuff, huh?"

"Yeah," Chuck answered easily, but Sarah could hear a certain note in his tone. He was practiced at deflecting. "So how's Dahlia? Has she had the baby yet?"

Magnolia sighed and shook her head, but her proud grin belied her annoyance. "That is one stubborn grandbaby! He's two weeks late. She's going to pop any day now!"

Sarah hid a wince with a polite smile.

"I'm glad you're both okay," Magnolia said. "When nobody had seen either of you for weeks, we all started to worry and pray for you."

"Thanks," Chuck answered warmly. "We're fine. Just settling back into the swing of things. Speaking of which, where are the pine nuts now? Martin mentioned they'd been moved when you guys shifted the store layout." Chuck grinned. "We're making your chicken risotto with kale, pine nuts, and bacon tonight."

Magnolia beamed, eyeing Sarah again. "Excellent! That's good eats, especially if you double up on the bacon. Aisle seven, back, um... left side." She pointed.

"Great, thanks," Chuck said, as he and Sarah started walking in the indicated direction. "Tell Dahlia we hope she has a safe and healthy delivery soon!"

"Will do," Magnolia replied, giving them a wave. "You two have a lovely evening now, you hear?"

Sarah smiled back and waved. When the older woman was out of earshot, Sarah leaned close to Chuck. "What was that about?"

He glanced at her. "Hmm?"

"Why are people at a local supermarket keeping tabs on us?" Sarah lowered her voice. "There isn't another secret base under this store, is there?"

"Oh." Chuck laughed. "No—it's—Ellie and I have just been shopping here since I was in junior high, when we moved to Echo Park. Magnolia noticed it was always just Ellie and me, and eventually figured out that our parents weren't there to take care of us, so she kind of adopted us and made sure we had good food to eat. Gave us recipes. Asked after us. Tried to fatten us up when she thought we looked too thin." He chuckled and glanced at Sarah. "Actually, she still does that. Don't worry. She likes you."

Sarah was about respond to that when they turned into an aisle and someone else spoke first.

"Hey, Chuck, Sarah," said a gray-haired man, who was putting price labels on boxes. He gave them a smile. "Nice to see you back."

"Hey, Martin," Chuck answered. "You gonna watch the game tonight?"

"You know I am," Martin shot back with a grin. "What else are Monday nights for? And don't tell me _Guitar Hero_ marathons. In my day, we didn't play plastic pretend guitars, we—"

"—played real ones and made real music," Chuck finished along with him. "Yeah, yeah, I know. How's that band coming along?"

"We're playing at Mack's on Friday night!" Martin announced. "Finally convinced him to give us a shot. I mean, if he can give crazy Indian lesbians and drug addicts a chance, I said why not us?"

Sarah blinked. _Crazy Indian lesbians?_ It made her think of something... someone?... but she couldn't remember who it was.

"Why not, indeed," Chuck echoed sagely. "What time? If we can, maybe we'll stop by to hear you guys play a set."

"Nine," Martin said immediately. "But come at eight-thirty and say you're with us and you'll get a free drink. Tell your friends about us! But, ah, not about the free drinks. That's just for you."

Chuck laughed. "Okay." He took Sarah's hand as they moved on. "If we're free, we'll come by."

They made it to the end of the aisle without running into anyone else, and found the pine nuts.

"So... this 'healthy' recipe has bacon in it?" Sarah asked with an arched eyebrow, as they moved on to the next ingredient. She let Chuck choose the path and just enjoyed being along for the ride.

Chuck smirked. "Well, yeah, but we don't eat it very often. Do you mind?"

"No, not at all."

As they gathered each ingredient, and bought a few other things that Chuck said they were running low on, Sarah was content to watch him interact with various store employees and even the occasional regular customer. She trailed along in his wake, smiling and feeling outside of it all, even as he—and these friendly strangers—made an effort to include her. It was so strange to not be in a rush to buy food, to not be avoiding eye contact with everyone. It was strange to walk through this world where, with him, what she saw was what she got. This wasn't an undercover op; there was no mark, no mission, no purpose other than to spend a weekday evening buying groceries so they could go home and make a meal together.

He seemed to know everyone and they seemed to know him—and her. She did her best to return their smiles, but she could tell that some of them were noticing something was off. Chuck usually stepped in to gracefully deflect, and she was grateful, but she found that she didn't mind the inquiries so much. It was nice to be cared about. It took her a little while to realize why people were giving her slightly worried but hopeful looks, though. Word had apparently gotten around by the time Chuck and Sarah made it to the butcher's counter at the back of the store.

"Hey, congratulations, Ms. Sarah!" the young guy behind the nearby fish counter said, waving at her.

Confused but not wanting to be impolite, she smiled and waved back, then watched when an older woman pushing a cart behind the counter suddenly paused and jabbed the guy in the side while hissing something under her breath.

"Hey, what's—?" the young guy protested, while the older woman shot Sarah a nervous smile. Then the young guy looked at Sarah and his face went slack with a big 'oh'. "Oh, nev—never mind."

Chuck, who had been chatting with the butcher, looked over and arched an eyebrow. "What did I tell you about hitting on my wife, Jeremy?"

Jeremy paled and then reddened. "But I, I wasn't—"

"Here," the older woman said, shoving a container of something into his arms. "Go separate these and trim off the scales."

Jeremy shot Sarah one last look of apology—he was kind of cute, in a hapless way—and quickly disappeared into the back room.

"What was that about?" Chuck asked, smiling as he took a package from the butcher and dropped it into their cart.

Sarah frowned. "He... congratulated me. I'm not sure."

"Congratulated you?" Chuck glanced over at the fish counter, caught the older woman's eye, and gave her a 'what's going on?' look. The woman rolled her eyes, then mouthed 'Pregnant?'

Sarah's eyes widened. Chuck glanced back at her in amused apology, then quickly shook his head at the older woman, who looked like she hadn't expected anything different. She shook her head in exasperation, but smiled at them.

"Hey, Janice," Chuck said, as they strolled up to the fish counter. "Good to see you."

"You, too, Chuck," Janice replied in a dry tone. "Have a good night. I'll make sure to put the kibosh on Magnolia's excitement."

As they walked toward the checkout lines, there was an odd sort of fluttering in Sarah's stomach at the thought that she might be pregnant. It wasn't a bad fluttering, but she wasn't sure what to think of it. Chuck had shaken his head in response to Janice's question, but Sarah would have to ask him about the possibility. Now that she thought about it, she hadn't had her period since she had woken up. Had they been trying? She didn't feel ready to become a mother, not at all, but... maybe someday, not so far away? Before, she would have flatly said no to children, but the thought of Chuck being her child's father put things in a different light. He was the sort of man who stayed.

Once again, she felt as though she had woken up in another woman's life and she was living a fairy tale she had never thought she could have. She was married to an intelligent, kind, gentle man who made her laugh; they had a dream house that they were apparently remodeling; she had a motley, loyal family by blood and friendship; and she had the chance to put down roots that could last a lifetime.

"You okay?" Chuck asked, when they were carrying their grocery bags out to the parking lot.

"What?" She glanced up at him. "Oh—yes. I'm fine. Just thinking." She gave him a smile, which he returned, but there was a question in his eyes. "Really," she said. "Nothing's wrong."

"All right," he replied, as the Nerd Herder chirped and he opened the trunk. He shot her a smile, another layer still in his eyes. "Let's go home."

On the short drive back, Sarah wondered how much longer Chuck would want to stay in the apartment. At this morning's briefing, Morgan had mentioned that just before Quinn had shown up, she and Chuck had closed on a little white house with a white picket fence and a red door.

So _that_ was what it looked like? After she had tried to kidnap Ellie, and Ellie had purposely caused a car accident to knock Sarah unconscious, Chuck had brought Sarah to the house in a last-ditch attempt to convince her that he was telling her the truth. The sun had been setting by the time she woke up, and she had been so focused on attacking him and completing her mission that she hadn't taken much note of her surroundings. After Quinn shot Chuck, she had fled the house, and she had never stopped to look back at it.

Going back there—could it ever feel like home? Would she find the shattered remains of the mirror still on the floor? Would she ever be able to see their names carved in that doorframe without also seeing Chuck leaning against it in pain, his eyes meeting hers above her gun?

But there was also the other memory. The first one, when they had made the carving. The warm, peaceful, happy moment. He would have both memories, too. She wouldn't be alone there.

And the thought of a little white house with a red door... it made the odd fluttering happen again, this time accompanied by almost-tears, and she tightened her grip on the steering wheel.

She had _told_ him about that? And he had gone out and found the house of her childhood fantasies? She almost didn't want to go back to see it, for fear that it wouldn't be as perfect as she imagined. But then, if it wasn't, they would just figure out what they needed to do to improve it, and he would help her make it happen. If there were still shards of mirror on the floor, they would sweep it up and buy a new one. It was strange how safe and at home he made her feel, like anything she could dream was possible, as long as she was going to do it with him.

She didn't deserve him. But she had him, and he loved her, and he looked at her like she was the most amazing woman in the world. Like she was worth enduring a beating—from her!—for. Like she was worth dying for.

Chuck had been wearing a vest, but still—he couldn't have known where Quinn was aiming. Chuck could have taken a bullet in the back of the head, and he had known it, and still he had thrown himself between her and the gun, after she had just stomped on his heart and kicked him down a flight of stairs.

He was a gift. An extraordinary, life-changing gift, and she swore to herself that she would never make him regret choosing to be with her, despite everything she had put him through.

Chuck was putting on a good face today, but she suspected that he was still hollowed out. There was something in his eyes—he had amazing eyes, so expressive and honest; they had told a second, and sometimes a third, story, even as his words had downplayed his part or his struggles—that told her he was still aching, still hoping, still aware that she might leave him.

That thought made her chest burn, and she clutched the steering wheel as she followed the small red-and-white Nerd Herder down the road. She would prove to herself and to him that she _did_ deserve him.

She swallowed. She was still afraid of what she might discover, trying to play house with him. Would she be a disappointment? Would she be unsatisfied? Would the happily-ever-after ending she had awoken to burn off in the harsh light of reality? But she fiercely wanted to try. She couldn't just throw this chance away. Not now, not when she ached for it to be real, and every other possibility seemed strangely bleak, because she had to picture those places without him.

He would give her space, if she asked for it. She could have her own apartment, she could find a job, she could try dating him and getting to know him again while she found herself. The problem was that she wanted to find herself with him. She wanted to skip all the waiting and the not-knowing and the hopeful smiles while his eyes made her ache, and she wanted to just curl up in his arms and hide away from the world for a while.

She blinked, refocusing on the Nerd Herder, and shivered. Shivered, because she wasn't warm and huddled with him yet; shivered, because she didn't quite recognize herself and this flood of _safe_ and _home_ and _loved_ and _at rest_ emotions that the thought of being in his arms suddenly evoked.

But the Nerd Herder slowed down, the left directional blinking on, and she didn't have time to process it all before Chuck turned into the quiet street outside their apartment and pulled his car up to a slow stop beside the curb. Sarah drove into the spot behind his and cut her engine, pausing a moment to watch as he switched off his car, opened the door, and unfolded his lanky frame to climb out. His clothes flattered his body; he looked fit and comfortable in them. He glanced up and shot her a tentative smile as he went around the back of the car and opened the trunk to lift out the plastic grocery bags.

Deciding she couldn't just sit in the car and watch him any longer, or it would look weird, she drew in a deep breath, grabbed her purse, and got out.

They had just entered the courtyard outside the apartment, laden with grocery bags, when a deep-voiced shout suddenly went up.

"Whoa! Great to see you guys!"

Devon Woodcomb, Ellie's husband, stood outside his front door, a baby gate in one hand and a dumbbell in the other. He quickly set them down next to a stack of cardboard boxes and shot Chuck and Sarah a megawatt grin. "Hey, Babe!" he shouted over his shoulder. Poking his head just inside his apartment, he called, "You're gonna want to see this!"

There was an annoyed noise, and Ellie appeared in the doorway. "Devon! I just put Clara down! All your shouting is going to wake—" Ellie suddenly caught sight of Chuck and Sarah and emitted a high-pitched squeal, then clamped her hands over her mouth, her hazel eyes wide and now filling with tears. Then she blinked, cleared her throat, and smoothed her palms down her sides. Striding purposefully across the courtyard toward them, her eyes full of hope and questions and her lips pressed firmly together, she met them and looked between them, everything about her frame bursting with contained energy.

Sarah glanced at Chuck, who only stood there smiling, so she swallowed, turned back to Ellie and said, tentatively, "Hi, Ellie."

"You, are you...?" Ellie clamped her lips shut again and looked at her brother, but he still didn't say anything. He just gave Sarah a warm look.

"I'm back," Sarah said.

Ellie shrieked and threw her arms around Sarah, who staggered a little under the onslaught when the grocery bags swung back and pulled at her center of gravity. Chuck was immediately beside her, steadying her, and Devon swooped in to take the bags from one of her hands.

"Whoa, Babe," he said, putting a hand on Ellie's back.

Ellie disengaged slightly and wiped under her eyes. "Sorry, I'm sorry. I'm just so happy to see you! After what Chuck told us, I didn't know if we would see you again before we left, and there's so much I wanted to... I wanted to say." Ellie pressed her lips together, taking in Sarah and Chuck and the grocery bags, then smiled. "But maybe now isn't the best time."

"No, it's okay—" Sarah moved to return Ellie's hug, but the remaining bags got in the way.

"Here," Chuck said, and he extended some fingers. She shot him a grateful smile. Once her arms were free, she gave Ellie a hug.

"I'm happy to see you, too," Sarah said honestly, marveling at how gracious and forgiving this woman was, and how wonderful it felt to be loved so deeply.

"We're going to make dinner," Chuck said. "You're welcome to join us."

Ellie stepped back, gesturing for Devon to return the shopping bags to Sarah. "No, of course not—this evening is for you two. Besides," Ellie gave a little laugh and dried one eye, then gestured back at the boxes, "we already ate. And we've got so much packing to do! The moving truck will be here at eight tomorrow morning, and I haven't even managed to start packing our closet yet. And there's everything in the kitchen—"

"I've got most of that," Devon said. "Not to worry, Babe."

She gave him a look. "As long as you don't try to pack it in with any of your workout equipment. I don't want to spend the next month making tea that smells like man-sweat."

He smirked at her. "Hey, I thought you said you _like_ how I smell when I'm all sweaty."

Sarah smiled to herself as she liberated the extra bags from Chuck.

Ellie rolled her eyes. "Sure, but I don't want my _tea_ to smell like boiled Devon." She put a hand on Sarah's arm. "You're back? Does that mean your memories are returning?"

Sarah shrugged. "Some of them. Bits and pieces. But mostly... no."

Ellie nodded. "That's to be expected. The more familiar things you do, the more likely it is that your memories will be triggered." Her gaze flickered up to Chuck's.

"Actually," Sarah said, "a lot of what Chuck told me feels familiar, even if I don't remember it."

Ellie smiled. "It's okay. Just give it time." She exhaled a laugh, her eyes bright with tears again. "I'm so happy for you. If you have any questions—any at all—just give me a call, okay? I'm a neurologist. I might be able to help."

"I know," Sarah said. "Thanks."

Some unspoken signal passed between Ellie and Devon, and suddenly Devon said to Chuck, "Here, bro, let me help you with those," and he took Chuck's bags. "C'mon, Sarah, I can show you where you guys keep everything."

"Okay," Sarah said, knowing when she was being managed, and playing along. "So Clara's asleep?"

As Devon launched into a tale of the harrowing gauntlet that was Clara's bedtime routine, Sarah glanced back at Chuck and Ellie.

"Oh, Chuck," Ellie exclaimed softly, pulling him into a hug. He pressed his cheek against her hair and closed his eyes.

Sarah had to keep walking, and she couldn't hear what Ellie said next, until Devon's chatter quieted when he and Sarah reached the front door.

"You okay, Sarah?" Devon asked in a low tone. "You're not being pressured to be here or anything, right?"

Sarah turned her gaze sharply up to Devon, but saw only genuine concern creasing his face. He was her brother-in-law, she realized. He cared about her, too. She met his gaze directly.

"No, Devon. I'm here because I want to be." She smiled. "Thank you for asking."

He relaxed and smiled back at her. "Oh, good. Chuck's a good guy. I didn't really think he'd do anything like that, but after everything you've been through, even the best intentions..." Devon blew out a breath and gave a shake of his head. "You can take your time, you know that, right?"

"I know." She turned to watch Ellie and Chuck pulling apart, and something in her eased a bit more. "It's going to be okay." She smiled up at Devon. "Actually, better than okay."

His teeth flashed. "You have _no_ idea how relieved we are to hear that."

"I think I have some idea," Sarah said, with a soft laugh.

Devon looked up as Chuck approached. "Yeah, I bet you do."

"Thank you," Chuck said to Devon, accepting the bags. "Do you need any more help with moving stuff?"

"Not tonight," Devon replied. "Although I wouldn't mind another strong back tomorrow morning."

"You got it," Chuck said. "Just give us a call."

"Awesome, bro, will do." Devon slapped Chuck's shoulder. "You two have a good night."

"Good night," they echoed.

While Chuck fit his key into the lock, Sarah watched Ellie and Devon meet up halfway across the courtyard, where they slipped their arms around each other—Devon's across Ellie's shoulders, Ellie's across his lower back—as they continued on toward their place.

"They really love each other, don't they?" Sarah asked, and Chuck looked up as he pushed the door in with his elbow.

Glancing back, he said, "Ellie and Devon? Yeah, they do."

"I can see why you and Morgan used to call him 'Captain Awesome'."

Chuck laughed, stepping into the darkness and reaching out to flip on a light switch. "He kind of grows on you after a while." Chuck dropped his keys into a basket beside the door and stood back to let Sarah go in ahead of him, then nudged the door closed with his foot and locked it behind him before following her into the kitchen.

"I'll be right back," he said, dropping his bags on the counter, and a moment later, he had disappeared into the bathroom.


	4. Chapter 4

_4_

Sarah got to work putting everything away, opening cupboard doors and drawers and relearning their kitchen. Most things were where she first guessed they would be, which gave her an odd, homey sort of comfort.

When Chuck came out of the bathroom, she took her turn. By the time she reemerged, he had put on some light jazz with a pleasant female vocalist, and he was starting to trim the chicken breasts.

The music was unfamiliar, but there was _something_ about it...

"Who is this?" Sarah asked, and Chuck looked up, then saw that she was gesturing toward the speakers, which stood across the room near the television.

"Stacey Kent."

It wasn't a name she recognized, but she tilted her head and listened. "I like her."

Chuck smiled. "I know."

It was a little disconcerting, having her preferences anticipated like this. And it was sweet.

"So," she said, glancing around to cover her discomfort, "where's the recipe?"

Chuck tapped his head with a knuckle. "You can be my sous chef. It's pretty simple. Just chop up all this stuff—" He gestured at the various packages strewn across the breakfast bar. "—and we'll toss it on the baking sheet after we par-cook the chicken. You can start by separating the kale leaves from the stems. We just want the leaves, torn into bite-sized pieces."

"Okay." That sounded simple enough. But it probably took her longer than usual, because she had to hunt a bit for the hardware she needed, and she almost ran into him once. She felt self-conscious as she set up across the breakfast bar from him. He only smiled at her and continued his work.

What should she say? It didn't seem like the time to start talking about whether she might be pregnant. That was too heavy an opener. Did they normally talk while they made dinner together?

She snuck a glance at him, but he was focused on the cooking. He had started heating the oven and there was a pot of broth warming up on the range. He moved efficiently around the kitchen, measuring out rice, laying parchment paper on a half-sheet pan, and drizzling olive oil and sprinkling salt and pepper on the raw chicken before putting it in the oven. Then he was emptying out the dish rack, washing some leftover dishes, pulling half the bacon out of its packaging and wrapping the rest up to store it in the freezer, before briefly checking on the chicken...

The sixth time she snuck a look at him, he chuckled.

"What?" she asked, looking up from the onion she was chopping, relieved to finally have something sensible to say.

"You're nervous," he said, and met her curious gaze with a smile. "But you can't be half as nervous as I am."

"Wanna bet?" she asked, giving him a crooked smile and brandishing her knife. Then she realized she was waving a knife at him and she quickly laid it down.

He paused, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. He set it down and came around the breakfast bar to stand beside her. She watched him with wide eyes as he lifted one hand to cup her cheek, and with the other, he held her opposite shoulder. When she didn't pull away, he brushed his lips against her forehead. She closed her eyes with a sigh, then frowned. Did he want her to kiss him in return? She tensed slightly, opening her eyes and looking up, but he only drew back and gave her a small smile. It was a little sad around the edges.

"Sarah," he said. "There is really _no way_ for you to fail tonight. What's the worst that could happen? Making a mistake while cooking dinner?" He shook his head. "No. Saying something wrong? No." His thumb traced her jaw. "You could decide right now that you don't want to go through with this, and you could walk out that door, and you still wouldn't have lost anything."

He gave her a half-sad, pressed-lips smile.

"I'd still be here if you need me." His voice was soft and quiet, and her eyes started to sting around the edges.

He withdrew his hands and started to turn away, but she quickly reached out and grasped his arm, pulling him back.

She opened her mouth to say something—

The kitchen timer went off.

They turned toward it with a slight jerk, then laughed awkwardly. Chuck gave her an apologetic look before going to pull the chicken out of the oven.

"Oh, oh, oh, hot—!" he suddenly exclaimed, despite holding the pan with a pair of oven mitts. "I forgot the trivet. Would you—yeah, bottom shelf, right—yep—" And the moment after she laid down the trivet, he hissed and dropped the pan on it, then waved his mitten-clad hands. "Sorry. I've been meaning to buy a new pair. They're kind of old and they don't work for more than a few seconds."

"No problem," Sarah said, slightly worried. "You're okay, right?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine." He made a funny, exaggerated macho face as he pulled off the gloves, and she giggled.

He waved his hands in midair for a second, then started issuing orders. "Okay, kale first, then the onions, pine nuts, bacon..."

They quickly tossed all the ingredients onto the hot pan around the chicken, and then Chuck slid the tray back into the oven.

"Now it's mostly just babysitting the risotto," he said, straightening up as he closed the oven door. "We've got a few minutes. Do you want some wine?"

"Sure." She washed her hands and dried them, then started to reach for the dirty dishes, but Chuck made a noise of protest and she turned around. He was popping the cork off a bottle of white wine.

"I'll get those," he said. "You just kick back."

"Really?"

"Sure, I like washing dishes," he said. "It relaxes me."

She shook her head in disbelief. "You really _are_ too good to be true."

He just laughed. "I'll remind you of that the next time Morgan comes over for Games Night and you start throwing peanuts at the back of my head."

"What?" she asked, half-laughing.

He gave her a look. "You _said_ it was good for improving my concentration under pressure." At her still-incredulous expression, he said, "Yeah, I didn't believe you, either."

She laughed and threw a piece of kale at him.

"Hey, if that lands in the wine, it's going to be _your_ glass."

She chuckled and wandered out of the kitchen to look at the framed portrait of the two of them that was on top of the bookcase.

"When was this taken?" she asked, picking it up. "Your hair is a lot longer."

"That was during our second year working together."

"It's kind of cute, the hair."

Chuck smirked and poured wine into a glass. "Ellie said it was making funny animal shapes."

"Well, yeah, but I like it." She looked up and eyed him speculatively. "The shorter cut suits you too."

"Thanks," he said, pouring a second glass. He brought one over to her, then took a sip from the other and smiled. "That one is my favorite." He pointed at a picture of the two of them outdoors on a sunny day with her wrapped around him, piggyback-style, a huge grin on her face while he looked up at her with an adoring expression.

She hummed and reached out to touch the frame. "When was this taken?"

"It was for our invitations," he said. "It's the only professional-quality photo we have, outside of our wedding day." He took another sip. "It was the first photo of the two of us after we got engaged."

After a moment, he cleared his throat and straightened. "Well, those dishes aren't going to wash themselves."

As he walked toward the kitchen, Sarah took a sip and turned away from the pictures, wondering what she ought to do until dinner. Wander around the apartment, asking him questions? But he had set down his glass and was running the water in the sink, so she decided not to try shouting over the music and the faucet.

Her suitcase was still in the trunk of her car. She should bring it in.

She took a fortifying swallow of her wine, then left it on an end table, fished her keys out of her purse, and went out the front door.

When she returned, the relief in his eyes was palpable, but when he caught sight of what was rolling in behind her, his face broke into a smile that warmed her through.

She went into the bedroom to... unpack. It felt weird to do it, but all of her other things were still in the closet, so it didn't make much sense to keep her suitcase packed and ready to go. Not anymore. She looked around the room at the unfamiliar nerd posters, the computer, the low window with its curtains, the walk-in closet with Chuck's clothes on the left and hers on the right, and the small trinkets on the nightstand on her side of the bed. It didn't feel like home yet—it just felt like it was _supposed_ to feel like home.

She turned her attention to the suitcase, letting the simple task give her something to focus on, even if it meant continually fighting the sense that, by unpacking, she was tying herself down, limiting her agility, giving up a tactical advantage. She drew in a deep breath and pushed through the jittery feeling.

Tossing a few items over her arm, she stepped into the closet and began to hang them up. The last item was a lacy, spaghetti-strap camisole, and she found the section where she had apparently kept those sorts of tops. Locating an empty hanger, she put the camisole in its place. As she drew her hand away, her fingers brushed against the silky fabric of a nearby top that hung in the closet already, and she felt a small flutter of recognition. She pushed the surrounding items back to get a better look, and saw a black lingerie top edged with pink lace, finished by a pink bow with a long ribbon.

For an instant, she saw a flash of wood paneling and the sway of a dark red curtain, felt a cold blast of air, and wavered as the floor rumbled beneath her feet.

She threw out a hand to steady herself against the closet door frame, shivering as she dropped the fabric, but the sudden rush of sensation passed immediately. It hadn't _felt_ like an earthquake tremor— She paused, listening, but she heard only the faint, normal sounds that Chuck was making as he moved about the kitchen. Not an earthquake, then.

Frowning, she let go of the door frame and took a step toward the lingerie top. She drew in a deep breath, then lifted the fabric enough to see it clearly again.

 _Chuck, grinning in the small wood-paneled room as he slid his hands under the lingerie top, grasped her hips, and suddenly_ lifted _her, pressing her up against the wall and putting her breasts at face-height for him. Her legs eagerly wrapped around his waist and she giggled as he seized one flimsy silk bra cup in his teeth and tugged it down, exposing her breast for his enjoyment—and then soon_ hers _..._

Sarah flung her eyes open, acutely aware of her sudden arousal, and she blinked as the sensation of his body faded from between her thighs. Curious, she drew close to the lingerie and pressed her nose against the fabric, closing her eyes.

What could she remember about that wood-paneled room? It was small. Behind Chuck, in the memory, there was a window with a dark red brocade curtain, and although it didn't flutter in that particularly... _hot_... impression, she was somehow certain that the window was where that blast of cold air had come from. Chuck had opened the window? Why?

...but that wasn't important. Where _were_ they? In a small, vibrating room? How did that make any sense?

She frowned, trying to recall _something_ , anything... and suddenly it came to her: they were in a train car! Hadn't Chuck mentioned that they'd hopped a train to Zurich after he saved her life and they had gone AWOL together?

They had been on a train, having sex. And talking. And laughing, and feeding each other, and sleeping, and waking each other up in intimate ways, and having more sex, and having so much _fun_ as they created a little nest away from the world for a while.

The memories felt like a honeymoon, and she supposed that it _had_ been, because that was the beginning of them being together, wasn't it? Hadn't they said those... vows to each other then, long before they had made it official in a church? What was it Chuck had said?

 _Sarah Walker, do you agree to quit the spy life and be with me?_

 _I do._

And now?

Sarah frowned and stepped back, opening her eyes and letting the lingerie slip through her fingers. She turned around slowly in the closet, her gaze drifting over everything else there, but nothing provoked a memory.

What was she doing here?

Sighing, she stepped back out into the bedroom and returned to her unpacking. But the memory of Chuck brought a smile to her lips.

When she finally went through the last of the suitcase's pockets, making sure everything was emptied, her fingers brushed against something and, curious, she pulled it out.

It was a picture of her and Chuck, probably taken even earlier than the second-year photo out in the living room. He was standing behind her with his arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders, grinning at the camera. He looked younger, as if the weight of it all hadn't quite settled on him yet. His hair was even shaggier, and he looked more gangly, less... filled out. But he still had the same look of delight on his face.

This must have been near the beginning, a cover photo, the sort of prop meant to support why she would be hanging around him so much of the time, as his cover girlfriend. But looking more closely at her own expression, she knew why she had kept this photo in her suitcase. It was supposed to be a cover photo, but he must have just made her laugh, because that was real joy in her eyes. And in his.

She blinked and smiled, drawing in a deep breath before blowing it out through pursed lips. She might be giving up a tactical advantage, but she was gaining a strategic ally. He had her back. She really _could_ try letting her guard down here. It _was_ going to be okay. She took a deep breath and released it. Swallowing, she tucked the treasured photo back into its pocket, zipped the suitcase closed, and stowed it in the back of the closet.

Back out in the living room, the jazz and the wine loosened her limbs, so Sarah kicked off her shoes and finally decided to make herself at home. If she wanted to sit back on the couch, close her eyes, and listen to Chuck puttering around in the kitchen, she was going to do it.

She never came close to dozing off, but there was something wonderful about being able to close her eyes and let the stress of the past weeks fall away.

When the oven timer went off, Sarah got up and returned to the kitchen, leaving her glass of wine next to one of the place settings on the table.

"Can I help?" she asked.

"Sure," he replied. "You're good with knives—" He shot her an amused look. "—so how about you chop up the chicken while I finish this risotto?"

She smirked and set to her task. They worked together easily, combining all the ingredients in a large pot, and when they finally settled down at the table across from each other, Chuck held up his glass. "Cheers."

She smiled and clinked their glasses, then eagerly took a bite, closing her eyes and humming with approval. Chuck laughed softly as he fished his phone out of his pocket and fiddled with something. A moment later, the music dropped in volume.

He gestured with the phone before putting it away. "Thought it would be easier to hear each other."

Sarah nodded and smiled politely as she finished another bite. "This is good."

"Thanks."

They ate in silence for a minute, and then she savored a sip of wine and thought about what she wanted to ask him first.

"So... Carmichael Industries," she began, and he looked up, swallowing a mouthful.

"What about it?"

"What happens next?"

He raised his eyebrows and blew out a breath, his cheeks briefly puffing out. "Well, that depends."

"On what?"

"You, mostly. I'm willing to follow your lead. Before... everything happened, you wanted to quit the spy life and shift our focus toward something safer, so we could—" He looked down, then lifted his eyes to meet her gaze. "—maybe start a family. But, ah, it's totally understandable if you don't feel that way right now."

He frowned. "We don't have Castle for much longer, though, and we sold nearly all the equipment and everything in the armory. We've got some resources maybe coming our way soon, but I don't want us to go back into business for ourselves as freelance spies. It turned out to be a lot harder and a lot less fun than I had hoped it would be." He cleared his throat, then backpedaled. "But we don't have to immediately start trying to have kids, either. We could go back to the CIA. I'm sure Beckman would let us work as partners if we asked." Chuck gave Sarah a crooked smile. "We _do_ make a pretty good team."

She smiled briefly, then picked at her food for a moment before looking up. "That's one option. But it might not be a viable one." When he tilted his head in question, she laid her fork down and said, "There's something I've been meaning to ask you about."

Chuck slowed his chewing and grew serious. Swallowing, he said, "What is it?"

She frowned. "I haven't had my period since I woke up, and I didn't find any birth-control pills in with my things. Were we trying to get pregnant?"

He relaxed and smiled. "Not yet. I mean, anything's possible, of course. We've had one scare already." He gestured in the direction of the bathroom. "If you want to make sure, we have an EPT. Although your best bet is probably to wait until tomorrow morning, because that's when your hCG level, if you have any, would be at its highest."

She absorbed this with a slight frown.

Chuck smiled gently. "I promise you, we've been extra careful since then, because as much as we both—" He faltered. "—as much as _I_ had started to warm up to the idea, we weren't really ready yet. Our lifestyle was still too dangerous."

Sarah took another bite, then a sip of wine, trying to process all that he had said. She swallowed and narrowed her eyes. "Just _how_ 'extra careful' have we been?"

"I went back to using condoms and you switched from the Pill to an IUD. Part of the reason you thought you might be pregnant was that you'd missed a day when you'd been captured during a mission a few weeks earlier, and then when your period didn't start on the date you'd expected it..."

Sarah nodded. "So I switched to a more reliable method."

"Yes."

She took this in for a long moment, then looked up at him. "You said that only _you_ had warmed up to the idea of starting a family. I hadn't wanted to have children yet?"

"No—you did. You were the one who first started pushing for us to get out of the spy business." Chuck pressed his lips together. "I just don't want to speak for you now."

"Thanks," she murmured.

Chuck's eyes unfocused and he smiled. "It all started with Molly."

"What did?"

Chuck focused on her again. "Oh, ah, you deciding that you wanted to get out of the spy business."

"Who's Molly?"

Chuck's face broke into a wide grin. "She's a great kid. Do you remember that infant girl in Hungary that you saved from Ryker and his gang?"

Sarah's mouth dropped open and she sat up straight. That had been her last mission, before she had woken up in the hotel room with Quinn, and she had sworn never to tell another soul about it, not even Director Graham, to protect the baby—and Chuck _knew?_

"It's okay, it's okay," he said quickly, putting up his hands. "She's safe. Ryker's dead and his accomplices are in prison. We caught them a couple of months ago, and your mom brought Molly here to finally meet you—to meet all of us."

Sarah's eyes stung, and she covered her mouth with a trembling hand for a long moment.

Chuck gave her a warm smile, then got up and walked across the room to pluck a picture frame off a shelf. He brought it back and gave it to her as he retook his seat. "Here. She's five now. She's beautiful and smart and funny, and totally adorable."

Sarah cradled the frame in her palms and stared down at the photo. It was of the four of them: herself, her mother, Chuck, and, in his arms, a little girl with dark blonde hair and dimples. All of them were smiling, although Chuck was beaming. Sarah ran one thumb along her mother's face, and the other along Molly's.

"Emma adopted her," Chuck explained. "You have a sister now."

Sarah glanced up and met his eyes, although her vision was blurred. She quickly wiped away the tears, then finished the job with her cloth napkin, giving a little laugh of disbelief.

"How _is_ my mother?" she finally asked. "God, for her it's been five _years!_ "

"Actually, no, just three weeks," Chuck said with a smile. "Every other weekend, they either come here or we go spend an afternoon with them." He sobered. "I had to cancel last week, though, because of everything that went down with Quinn."

"Right, of course..." Sarah murmured. She set the picture frame down on the table and looked up at him. "Does she know about—" Sarah gestured at herself. "—yet?"

"No, not yet. I'll call her and explain before we next see them."

"I want to talk to her."

"Yeah, of course, yeah." Chuck paused. "Wait, do you mean right now?"

"No, but maybe tomorrow."

"Sure, no problem." He jerked a thumb back toward Sarah's purse. "Her number is in the favorites list on your phone."

"Okay." Sarah let her gaze linger on the photo. Chuck looked so happy to be holding Molly, and she seemed perfectly comfortable being held by him. He was going to make a _great_ dad.

Sarah released a long breath, then returned to her meal, letting her eyes linger on the photo while she marveled at how big Molly was. She hadn't been around many young children in her adult life, and it was easy for the years to pass by unnoticed—including the ones she remembered. Young children marked the rapid passage of time in a way that little else did. It was no wonder, if she had been spending a lot of time with Molly, that the question of having her own child had not only come up, but had started to feel pressing. Sarah had never been one to pay attention to the idea of a biological clock—she hadn't been much of a baby person as a teenager, and she and her father had never stayed anywhere long enough to build the kind of trust required for her to become a babysitter. Children were just something that other people had... until now.

She and Chuck ate in silence for a short while, and then he said, "We don't have to decide anything immediately. Between the Buy More and Castle, we had enough for a down payment, and we've got some savings. We'll be comfortable for a little while yet. It'll give us a nice breather. If there's anything on your bucket list, now might be a good time to do it."

Sarah nodded, then finished her last bite, wiped her mouth with her napkin, and sat back, tilting her head as she regarded him. "So you're willing to follow my lead, but what do _you_ want to do? What would you have wanted, if I were still me right now?"

His eyes softened. "You _are_ still you right now."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do, and you know what _I_ mean."

She gave him a look, then chuckled. "Okay. But you still haven't answered my question."

He set down his wine glass and sat back, raising his eyebrows. "Well," he said, "I would have wanted to keep working on our house. It's in pretty good shape, but the bathrooms need to be updated and the kitchen could use a remodel. The countertops should be replaced. I was thinking granite: it's more expensive, but it'll last longer than any other material. The cabinetry woodwork is still in fine shape, but the appliances are old."

He frowned. "Speaking of which, we need to take a look at washers and dryers. I was thinking of going with some water-efficient front loaders, but we need to measure the space and see if we have to knock out a wall or pull up some of the laminate to make room. Most of the laundry machines on the market seem to have a bigger footprint than those old ones in the house, and we can't go with one of the smaller-footprint stacks because the fuse box and the fiber optics box are mounted right above them." He shook his head in annoyed disbelief. "I suppose I could rewire the boxes, but I don't want to deal with the vendors claiming I voided their warranties..."

Sarah laughed, and Chuck looked up from his musings.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said, taking a sip from her glass, and draining it. She gave the empty glass a playful twirl. "You're just cute when you talk home improvement." He gave her a lopsided grin, and she gestured at his glass, which was nearly empty. "Want some more wine?"

Oddly, Chuck glanced down at his watch. "No, thanks." At Sarah's curious look, he said, "It's nearly eight o'clock. If I drink too close to bedtime, the tannins give me reflux."

She smiled and shook her head, pouring herself a second glass. "It amazes me that you ever became a spy."

Chuck laughed. "Not nearly as much as it amazes me."

"So... we were moving into a new house, and Ellie and Devon are moving out. Where are they going?"

"Chicago. Ellie was offered an exclusive research fellowship in neurology at the University of Chicago Medical Center, and they offered Devon a position as head of the cardiology division."

"Wow. That's an amazing opportunity."

"I know, right?" Chuck said, then sobered. "Mom is thinking of moving out there, too."

"Of course. She wants to be close to her granddaughter."

"Yes, although—" Chuck made a face and scratched the back of his head. "I'm not sure how psyched Ellie and Devon are about that. Mom can be kinda..."

"Intense?" Sarah supplied, with a slight smile. Mary Bartowski had pulled a gun on her only the day before.

"Yeah..." Chuck winced. "She likes you, in her own way. She hasn't really adjusted to everyday social norms yet. I mean, I guess it's understandable: she spent twenty years in deep cover, surrounded by criminals and in close quarters with a dangerously-unstable, brilliant mass murderer."

Sarah's mouth dropped open.

Chuck sighed and waved a hand. "It's a long story. Anyway, my memories of her are just a series of childish moments. She was practical and efficient, and I knew she loved me, but she was also kind of distant, and she disappeared when I was nine. Ellie says that Mom was always a little intense. She's kind of on her own plane of existence, which is tipped slightly off the normal axis in the direction of spy-eat-spy."

"She sounds like my kind of person."

Chuck smirked. "Perhaps a little _too_ much. That's probably why your relationship has always been a bit prickly."

Great. She had a mother-in-law that she wasn't on the best of terms with, the gun notwithstanding.

"Really, she likes you. More than that, you have her professional respect, which is perhaps—at least to her—even more important. She trusts you to protect me." Chuck grinned.

"I'm not sure how good I'll be at that for a while," Sarah said with a frown. "I'm going to need you to fill me in on every mission we've been on these past five years. It would be better to have mug shots, full dossiers, and current locations of all known threats, but we probably don't have access to that much at the moment. Maybe we _should_ rejoin the CIA."

"Sarah," Chuck said, sitting forward and reaching for her hand. "I'd be happy to tell you everything I can, but you don't need to be worried. It's not your job to protect me from the world anymore."

She narrowed her eyes. "You _do_ still have the Intersect, don't you?"

The smile fell from Chuck's face as he withdrew his hand and his eyes tracked away from hers.

"Yes," he admitted with a sigh, before looking back at her. "But only you, me, and Casey know about it."

"Can we trust him?"

"Who, Casey? Absolutely. With our lives."

She frowned. "Are you sure about that? Because from where I'm standing, right now you're worth a _lot_ of money to the wrong people. Do we know where Casey was going when he left?"

Chuck set his jaw. "We can trust Casey. If you trust me, then trust him."

Sarah glared past Chuck's shoulder, then sighed. "I... do trust you. It's just that, from everything I've heard about Casey, he's not exactly known for loyalty to anyone but whoever's calling the shots on his current mission."

"He used to be like that, but Casey's changed," Chuck said. "He's got a daughter now."

"Really?" Sarah blinked. "I thought he wasn't the sort to get attached."

Chuck shrugged. "He's still not, for the most part. But it turns out that his fiancée, from before he got drafted into covert ops and had to burn all his civilian connections—they gave him a funeral and everything—well, she was pregnant, only he never knew about it until a couple of years ago. His daughter's name is Alex. She and Morgan are pretty serious. They're moving in together, actually."

"Wait— _Morgan_ is in a relationship with Casey's daughter?" Sarah chuckled. " _That_ must have been interesting."

"Yeah." Chuck grinned. "Lots of facepalms and even the occasional death threat. But it all worked out. Casey would do anything to make her happy, and Morgan makes her happy."

"Wow," Sarah said, shaking her head.

"I know." Chuck smiled and looked fondly nostalgic. "He's growing up."

"So what is it with you two?" Sarah asked.

"Me and Morgan?"

"Yeah."

Chuck shrugged. "He's my best friend—or was, until I met you. Now he's the next closest thing. We've been friends since we were six. We went through childhood and all the awkward stages of puberty, adolescence, and quarter-life crises together. He was there for me when my mom left, and then again when Dad disappeared. When Bryce got me kicked out of Stanford and totally derailed my life, Morgan was there to pick up the pieces. He and Ellie got me back on my feet. Sure, sometimes he can be wildly inappropriate, and he puts his foot in his mouth on a regular basis, but he's got a good heart, he's brave and resourceful, and he's loyal to a fault. He's family."

Sarah nodded.

"Is there anyone else you want to ask me about?"

"Casey," she said, still serious. "Why do you trust him?

Chuck pursed his lips and nodded. "Because he has saved our lives more times than I can count. Because he has never betrayed us, even when he had plenty of opportunity." Chuck leveled his gaze. "Because he's a friend."

"Do you know where he is?"

"Not precisely, no, but I know who he's probably with. Gertrude Verbanski."

"Verbanski Corp.," Sarah said with a nod. "Makes sense. With their reputation for efficiency and brutal but effective results, yeah, that seems right up Casey's alley. His skills would be welcome there."

"I'm sure they would be, but Casey could have found a new job anywhere. No, he's with _Gertrude_ Verbanski."

Sarah's eyes widened. "Oh."

"Yeah." Chuck smiled.

"Is it... serious?"

"You mean marriage and kids? I doubt it. But who knows? Casey and Gertrude aren't what anyone would call... conventional. Apparently when they first met, she tried to kill him. She only managed to disarm him, though. And based on something Casey once said..." Chuck made a face. "...I can only infer that their skirmish turned into sex. And then they parted ways and she mounted his captured weapon in her office."

"That's... strange," Sarah said, grimacing.

"Tell me about it. After we started advertising ourselves as a private security firm, we kept running into Verbanski Corp., and Casey took it to the next level by stalking her—with your help, I might add—and planting a bug on her."

Sarah widened her eyes in disbelief. " _I_ helped him stalk Gertrude Verbanski?"

"Yeah, you shipped them something fierce."

Her mouth fell open and she tilted her head in confusion. "I... what? Did I send them a panther or something?"

Chuck blinked. "Huh? Oh. No." He laughed. "You _shipped_ them—it's a fandom thing—you know, when you want two characters to be in a romantic relation _ship?_ "

Sarah's frown deepened. "What's a fandom?"

"Oh, it's—" Chuck laughed and shook his head. "You know what? It doesn't matter." Still chuckling to himself, he finished off his wine and pushed his chair back from the table, picking up his plate as he rose. "The point is, you wanted them to get together. You even suggested where he should take her on their first date: a shooting range." Chuck grinned as he went into the kitchen. "From all accounts, it went great."

"It's still weird," Sarah said, picking up her dishes and following him.

"It's not my thing, either, but who are we to judge?"

Sarah laid her plate, utensils, and glass in the sink, then stood back, leaning her hip against the counter and crossing her arms while she watched Chuck load the dishwasher.

"I'm not judging, exactly, I'm just trying to wrap my head around it."

Chuck gave a short laugh. "Don't bother. It's never going to make sense." He lifted the dishwasher door with his foot, then nudged it closed with his hip and pivoted smoothly to begin hand-washing the wine glasses in the sink. "Would you grab the bottle?"

"Oh, sure." She went back out to the dining area and gathered up the napkins, clearing the table before she brought the bottle back. She peered around the kitchen. "Where's the cork?"

He glanced back at her. "Oh—right here." He picked up the cork and tossed it to her.

She caught it. "Thanks."

With a nod, he continued washing the last few items. When Sarah finished putting the wine in the fridge, she decided to take the opportunity to stand back and really _look_ at him, unobserved. He wore an untucked dark olive button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows, a pair of blue jeans, and black Converses with white laces. The sneakers suited him, and made her smile. All of his clothing fit well, hinting at his frame without hiding it in yards of fabric or clinging in unflattering ways. Compared to the clothes in his earlier pictures, these clothes looked like something she would have helped him pick out, and she smiled, wondering if she had. The darker colors suited his skin tone and coloring; he didn't look as washed out as he had in the photos. Of course, that could have just been the effect of bad lighting and low-quality cell phone cameras, but still, there was an ease and a touch of class about him now.

In particular, she enjoyed the way the shirt fabric moved on his back and shoulders while he worked. He had nice shoulders, she decided, and a long torso that tapered to a narrow waist and hips. The proportions weren't an Adonis ideal, but relative to his long legs, the overall effect was... nice to look at. If she were standing beside him, she would have to look up to meet his eyes. As a tall woman, she was accustomed to most men being at or below eye level—especially when she was in heels—but even if she wore her stilettos, he would still have a couple of inches on her, in his bare feet. There was something undeniably appealing about that. And about the idea of him in his jeans and bare feet. She smiled, looking back up his frame again, finally letting her eyes trail down to his bare forearms.

He had apparently taken off his watch some time after they'd gotten home, but he still wore his wedding ring. She wondered if he ever took it off. Looking down at her own hand, she frowned. She had taken her wedding and engagement rings off after she'd realized that he had tricked her and switched out the Intersect glasses for a dud. There hadn't seemed to be much point in maintaining the ruse any longer. She just wished she hadn't put them in hock for the cash. But she couldn't have brought them with her when she went after Quinn—if she had been captured, any sign that Chuck still mattered to her would have made him a target all over again. She had to be the ruthless assassin to keep him safe.

She rubbed the empty place where the slim bands had been, and pressed her lips together.

"You okay?" Chuck asked.

Sarah looked up. "Oh, ah..." Chuck stood facing her, drying his hands on a dishtowel.

She frowned down at her left hand, quickly turning it over and flexing it into a brief, loose fist before dropping it to her side. "It's just... I don't have my rings anymore." She lifted her gaze to meet his.

Chuck nodded, but he didn't seem surprised or angry. He draped the towel back over the oven door handle, then straightened and pushed his hands into his pockets, his shoulders relaxed. "I know."

She frowned. "How? I could have just taken them off and kept them somewhere."

He gave her a half-smile. "No, it's not your style to hold on to mission mementos."

She smirked in wry agreement, then sobered and allowed herself to rub the empty ring-spot again. "I'm so sorry," she finally said with a sigh.

"They're just rings," he said. "They can be replaced. That is—" He pulled one hand out of his pocket in a quick, hedging gesture. "—if you want them to be."

She nodded and dropped her hand, not knowing what to say. She was willing to spend the night—was she willing to go through with all that doing so might entail? She didn't know yet, although she was certainly curious—but deciding whether to renew her wedding vows, that was an entirely different kettle of fish. She was finding it easier to trust him; it was herself that she didn't trust.

"No, they aren't just rings." She grimaced. "You've been nothing but kind to me since I woke up, and I've..." She winced and shook her head, looking down. "...I've made _so_ many mistakes."

Chuck stepped up close to her. He had taken both of his hands out of his pockets, and he reached for her hands, grasping them lightly.

"Sarah," he said, and his voice drew her to lift her eyes up to meet his. "You don't need to apologize for anything that's happened. It wasn't your fault. You were doing the best you could, given what you knew. Besides, you apologized two weeks ago. I appreciated it then, too, but it wasn't necessary. I had already forgiven you."

Her eyes stung, but she blinked the tears back. "See, that's just it," she answered softly. "I _wasn't_ doing the best I could. I was afraid, and I was looking out for myself. You confused the hell out of me because you were such a good man, and I... I couldn't believe anybody could be _that_ good. Not in the spy world." She looked down, baring her teeth in self-disgust. "I just automatically gravitated toward the ugly lie, when the..." She withdrew one hand from his grasp and lifted it to cup his cheek, raising her eyes to meet his again. "... _beautiful_ truth was standing right in front of me."

He blinked, his eyes suddenly bright with contained emotion. This way he had of coming to tears so easily and unexpectedly, his pain and his joy expressed without hesitation—it tugged at her and drew her in. She envied his ability to _feel_ so easily. He wasn't afraid to be himself, and his honesty made her feel safe enough to be honest, too.

"I let the lie turn me into a monster," she whispered. "I thought you were the monster, but _I_ was the cold killing machine. I kidnapped _Ellie_ and held her at gunpoint, for God's sake!" Sarah started to pull her hand away from his face, but Chuck captured it and squeezed it gently. Sarah pressed on. "You _begged_ me to believe you. You gave me every chance. You _never_ hit me back, even if it meant that you—you took an awful _beating_." She pulled her hands out of his and looked down at his torso with a wince, lightly running her fingers over his shirt. Her throat closed up as she tried to finish. "You _kept_ your vows."

His warm hands cupped her elbows. "You didn't _remember_ yours," he said. "No one would have held you to them."

"It's just—" She squeezed her eyes shut, but it was no use; the hot, stinging tears pushed out anyway. "I can't help thinking how different it all would have been if _you_ were the one who had his memories taken away. You would _never_ have done what I did!" Her chest burned, and she gritted her teeth and twisted, bending in on herself—but he stopped her, pulling her into a strong embrace that kept her upright. His arms wrapped more tightly around her and he pressed his head against the top of hers. A sob wracked her, but he didn't let go.

She choked on her words. "I thought I was one of the _good_ guys!"

"You _are!_ " Chuck insisted, gravel in his voice. "God, I _hate_ that Quinn did this to you!"

"No." She shook her head and straightened, swallowing a sob and forcing her breathing to calm. Flexing her jaw, she pushed back, and Chuck's grip on her loosened. "He _didn't_ make me into this person." She sniffed sharply and lifted her head to fix him with a firm gaze. Did Chuck even really know her? "I've been this person for a long time. Quinn just revealed the real me."

"No, you _used_ to be this person," Chuck said. "But this isn't the real you, it's just what you can _do_. Before you became Sarah Walker, the CIA's top agent and Langston Graham's wildcard assassin, you were Sam, a lonely girl who loved her father and mother, and dreamed of having what you never did: a stable home and family."

Sarah swallowed and frowned up at him.

Chuck paused, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head in question. "From what I've gathered, Graham didn't give you much choice about joining the CIA, did he?"

"He didn't force me."

"No, but he recruited you as a vulnerable teenager, straight out of high school. Did you have anyone else looking out for you after your father was taken into protective custody?"

"I wasn't coerced," Sarah repeated. "The CIA promised me a job, a college degree, marketable skills..." She trailed off with a bitter smile. "I got all those things."

"Yeah." Chuck pressed his lips together, straightening again. "The point is, I know you didn't stop being lethal when you married me—" He gave her a small, lopsided grin. "—and I never expect you to. More than once, I have spent the night beside you, fully aware that you could kill me with nothing more than your pinky finger."

Sarah laughed, then shook her head and looked down. But a moment later, she had to raise her head when his fingers caught her chin and tugged it back up.

"I'm not done yet," he said, all trace of humor gone, and she swallowed and held his gaze. "About a year ago, the thing we'd all been dreading finally happened: I was captured by someone who had discovered I was the Intersect, and they wanted to sell the data—to sell _me_ —to the highest bidder." Chuck released her chin, but she didn't look away, captivated now. "General Beckman made a bad call. Honestly, so did I. I was separated from you and Casey, and sent on a mission halfway around the planet. I was trying to prove something that didn't need to be proved: that I could be an agent without the Intersect."

Sarah frowned. "But I thought you said—"

"It had been suppressed against my will," Chuck explained. "Long story. In any case, the guy who had captured me, code-named The Belgian, didn't know that. He killed the other CIA agent who was on the mission with me, then injected me with something to knock me out, and we went off the radar. You and Casey spent a week chasing down leads in half a dozen countries, looking for me, and every lead turned out to be nothing. He said you became more and more erratic, you weren't sleeping, and you refused to listen to reason. When another lead turned up, you violated international law without a second thought and kidnapped a Thai diplomat out of his own embassy, then threatened to burn him from the inside out with a syringe filled with ammonia."

She winced.

"Morgan said you were seriously scary," Chuck continued. "But it worked. The diplomat told you what you needed to know to find me, and you took the next flight to Thailand. Casey and Morgan got on another one shortly after that, and by the time they caught up with you a day or so later, you'd fought your way across half the jungles of Thailand, leaving a trail of unconscious bodies in your wake. Word got out. They started calling you 'The Giant Blonde She-Male'." A tiny, cold smile tugged at the corners of Chuck's mouth. "By the end, if someone just spotted you coming, a shout would go up and everyone would flee."

Sarah frowned. It sounded like some kind of ridiculous legend, but Chuck was telling the story as if it were true. Although the thought of someone trying to hurt him made something coil in her belly—

"You ended up in a pit match against a local warlord's top hit man, and as if that wasn't enough, the pit also contained a cobra. If you won the match, the warlord would tell you where he'd given The Belgian a place to do his human-trafficking experiments. You won, but Morgan said that he had to dig human teeth out of your arm. By the time you finally made it to me, you were a bloody mess." Chuck smiled. "Casey said you still looked better than the other guy."

Sarah tried to smile, but there was a cold lump settling in the pit of her stomach. "What had The Belgian done to you?"

Chuck frowned and glanced to the side. "Mostly just psychological torture. I didn't have access to the Intersect, and they kept trying to manipulate my subconscious to activate it. When that didn't work, they finally just tried to cause a death of personality and leave only the Intersect intact, since they assumed that I was refusing to access it. They started performing a lobotomy without a scalpel, essentially." At Sarah's gasp, Chuck looked back at her. "It nearly worked."

His gaze drifted away again, fixing on a spot over her head. "I remember..." He frowned. "...the lights going out. Everything felt smaller, like the walls were closing in, parts of my life just... gone. Everyone I knew was taken away, separated from me by barriers that I couldn't reach through. The last place I came was here..." There was a dreamlike note in his voice now. "The windows and the walls had shattered, and the glass was everywhere, shards streaming through the air, through me. There was a bright light beyond them, the only light left, and I walked toward it—" Chuck's whole face contracted. "I accepted it."

"Accepted what?" Sarah whispered.

He blinked, returning to himself, his face clearing. He refocused on her, and as he took her in, he swallowed and smiled.

"My death."

She stared at him as he began to rub her upper arms, his smile warming as he continued.

"But then I heard your voice, and all the shattered pieces disappeared. The apartment was still standing. I walked toward you, but I had trouble believing it was really you, because... Well, let's just say that they had done a real number on me." Chuck reached up and cradled the sides of her head in his palms, his eyes growing bright. He swallowed. "But you kissed me, and I felt it—and woke up."

"I guess those magical kisses _are_ real," she murmured, letting a small smile tug at her lips.

Chuck exhaled a laugh, dropping his hands to her upper arms, where he gave her shoulders a brief caress with his thumbs before releasing her and standing back. "By Morgan's fairy tale logic, though, they only work one way, if you think about it."

She frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

"It's always the prince whose kiss wakes the damsel in distress—or in my case, the _dude_ in distress. It's never the other way around."

Sarah smirked. "So you're saying I'm the kickass princess?"

"Yeah, definitely," Chuck said with a laugh.

She sobered. "But now _I'm_ the one who needs to be woken up."

He pressed his lips together. "I want your memories to return, too," he said quietly. "But even if they never do, you're strong. You have what it takes to do more than just survive. You're amazing. You always have been." He gestured in a way that took all of her in. "You've reinvented yourself more times than you probably even realize, and you can do it again. I'm not sure I've got the resources to survive what you've gone through, but I _am_ sure that you do."

"Even so," she said, frowning as she stood up a little straighter, "it doesn't change the fact that when circumstances push me to my limit, I'm a liar, a thief, and a killer."

"But not for your own gain," Chuck said softly, lifting his hands, palms up. "You have the strength to do these things to protect the people you care about. There is a time for fighting, and you're very good at it, and I don't want you to be any other way." He drew closer, reaching out to run his hands down her forearms until her palms were in his grasp. "And when the fight is over, you are warm, kind, generous... and beautiful." He let out a shaky breath, smiling at her through his tears. "What I'm trying to say is that I wouldn't be standing here right now if you weren't _exactly_ who you are." He gave her hands a gentle press. "We work well together, Sarah. You bring out the best in me, and I bring out the best in you."

She arched an eyebrow. "I'm not sure beating up half of Thailand's thugs is really me at my best."

"No, you're right," he said, nodding, his expression serious. "Your best is probably _all_ of Thailand's thugs."

She laughed and then sighed. "I don't know if I can do this, Chuck. I want to believe you. I want to believe in myself. But this is all so, so..." She withdrew a hand and waved it at the small, homey apartment, with all of its picture frames and the stability that the unfamiliar surroundings implied. "... _different_ from what I'm used to. I don't know who I am if I'm not a spy. I don't know how to _be_ anything else."

"Do you _want_ to be a spy?" Chuck asked.

She pulled her other hand out of his grasp and turned away with a shake of her head, pacing into the living room. "Honestly?" she said. "This morning, I might have said yes. But now...?" She exhaled and frowned. "I don't know. What I _do_ know—" She turned on her heel to face him. "—is that as long as you have the Intersect, you're going to be a target. The story about The Belgian only makes me more certain of it. I mean, what if we _do_ stay out of the spy business, keep our heads down, don't ruffle any feathers?

"There's no guarantee that someone won't get curious about what happened to the Intersect glasses. I know the official report says that Quinn used them before I shot him, but that's awfully neat and convenient. Someone with a suspicious nature won't buy it; they'll try to test it. It's what I would do. Quinn wasn't working alone; he had labs and co-conspirators. He had resources, connections, favors he could call in. We stopped _him_ , but what about the rest of the organization he was a part of?"

"From what he said, I had the sense that he was running his own rogue operation," Chuck said with a frown. "With him gone, they're probably scrambling for direction right now."

"A dangerous state of affairs, since there could be multiple actors with sensitive, valuable intel that they're looking to sell. Getting curious about the people who took out Quinn would be at the top of their list."

Chuck nodded and bit his lip. "I agree. What are you proposing? That we go back to Beckman and ask her to let us track them all down?"

"No," Sarah said. "I'm not proposing anything. I'm just saying that even in the best-case scenario, you're still a person of interest. From what you've told me, it seems like you can't always control when you flash. And given how you looked the one time I saw you flash, you have a distinctive, visible reaction when it happens. So if someone wanted to find out if you had the Intersect, all they'd have to do was expose you to a trigger and then watch your response. You could 'accidentally' bump into some random person on the street and the jig would be up."

Chuck's frown deepened and he crossed his arms. "It's worse than that," he admitted. "They could put an image or an audio trigger on a TV in a public place and catch my reaction on a security camera. They wouldn't even need to send a human agent."

"How were you not discovered before?" she asked, incredulous.

"Because they didn't know where to look or what to look for," he answered. "We got a lot of mileage out of security by obscurity." His mouth quirked bitterly. "And out of you and Casey executing nearly everyone who did discover it." Sarah gave him a mirthless smile, and Chuck continued. "But word started to leak out, particularly once Shaw went rogue, and the only solution was to make sure everyone knew that we no longer had the Intersect."

"Yeah, _that_ worked really well."

"It did, for a while," Chuck said. "Quinn came out of left field, but you're right: he wasn't working alone." Chuck frowned. "About six months ago, Decker told me that there was some kind of master plan that has been making our lives hell for the past five years, a plan that started long before I ever downloaded the first Intersect. He told me I was just a pawn in a larger game."

Sarah frowned. "Do you believe him?"

"I don't know. It was the kind of belittling, mess-with-your-head move that he would make, even if it weren't true."

"Yeah. But it's worrisome. It makes me think this whole situation is far from over."

Chuck sighed and dropped his arms. "But that's exactly what he wanted us to fear, and I refuse to do it. Conspiracy theories offer a kind of comfort, because they imply a certain design to what is actually just a vast, complex web of largely random interactions. Nobody wants to admit that they have no idea what the hell is going on, because that's even more frightening."

Sarah gave him an incredulous look. "You can't possibly be that naïve. For spies, it's always truths wrapped in lies wrapped in half-truths and more lies."

"And sometimes, it's just a group of desperate people whose mad, selfish plans keep getting blocked, so they thrash around, making mistakes and losing more pieces in their little 'game'," Chuck said. "They want you to believe they're in control of the pieces, because they can use fear to keep you from fighting back. But there were too many random variables that they couldn't possibly have controlled. If there really is some Illuminati-level plot buried deep in the U.S. government whose aim is to play with my life—which I seriously doubt, I'm not _that_ important—then we've dealt them a _lot_ of serious blows these past five years. We've taken down Fulcrum, Roark, the Ring, the GRETA project, Volkoff, Decker, Shaw, the Omen virus, and Quinn, not to mention revealing that the identity of Orion, the original designer of the Intersect, was my father. And we blew up not just one, but _three_ separate Intersect terminals. If there was some master plan, it must be in tatters by now."

Sarah crossed her arms and jutted her jaw. "And if there _is_ a chessmaster—or a group of them—they've probably retreated to lick their wounds. But I don't want to be caught off guard. If there _was_ some master plan, they're going to regroup."

"I don't want to be caught out, either. But given how much infrastructure we dismantled, it could take _years_ for them to rebuild what they lost."

"Assuming that's what they want to do."

"We just don't know," Chuck sighed, "and I, for one, am not going to put my life on hold to sit around worrying about a bunch of shadowy, theoretical figures. General Beckman didn't get to be where she is without knowing how to do her job. I don't trust her entirely, but I do believe that she'll look out for us, and she'll let us know if we need to be on the alert."

"Assuming she can."

"Yeah," Chuck said, but he sounded weary. He was standing beside the table, and he pulled out a chair and sank down into it. "I just want to be _done_ ," he said. "Ten years ago, the Intersect Project stole my future from me. I didn't know it at the time, but that was why Bryce got me kicked out of Stanford—to protect me from a worse fate. My ability to store subliminal visual data and accurately recall it is off the charts, apparently. I was the ideal Intersect candidate, but as you've pointed out yourself, I'm not exactly traditional spy material."

Sarah nodded slowly, her nostrils flaring in distaste. "So when you failed the field-agent training, they would have loaded the Intersect into you anyway and kept you in a bunker somewhere."

She pulled out a chair and sat down kitty-corner to him. Something cold twisted inside her at the thought of him being imprisoned and treated as a slave or a lab rat.

Chuck nodded. "Bryce did me a huge favor, but it cost us both. It was the end of our friendship. Five years later, when he sent the first Intersect to me, I think he was working with my father. The two of them threw a huge monkey wrench into whatever master plan had been set in motion. I've been the random element, bouncing around in the works for the last five years, and laying waste to all sorts of gears."

Chuck gave her a tired smile and held up a hand for a mocking high-five, which she clearly wasn't expected to return. "Team Bartowski for the win." He expelled a long breath. "I'm done. I'm done with letting the various elements of the Intersect Project try to corral, use, capture, or kill me. I want the future that I've dreamed of with Morgan since we were in middle school."

Sarah blinked. "You want a future with Morgan?"

Chuck looked up, confused, then laughed wryly. "No—I mean, yes, I want him in my life and my future, but, no—" Chuck's amusement faded and he rested an elbow on the table, reaching up to rub his eyelids. He dropped his hand and looked at her. "No, I mean, Morgan and I have been dreaming of a certain future since we were in middle school. We used to plan out all the details, and we would revise them over and over."

Sarah smiled and crossed her legs, settling back in her chair. "What sort of future?"

Chuck shook his head slowly, exhaling, and he made a brief wave with his hand, his elbow still resting on the table. "Beautiful wives..." He gave her a sad smile. "Happy children running around with little superhero capes on, families that stayed together for a lifetime. Years of movie nights and lame in-jokes and gaming marathons. Being there for our kids when they graduated from high school. Boring stuff to most people, but the kind of thing that he and I both wished we had growing up, you know?"

"What happened to _his_ parents?" Sarah asked.

"His father abandoned them when Morgan was little, and his mom—she had to work two or three jobs just to keep a roof over their heads. She was either always working, or she was exhausted. She loved him, but she didn't have a lot left for him. That's why he spent a lot of time at my house growing up. It was better than being home alone."

Sarah nodded and looked down at her hands. She knew that feeling only too well.

"After I got kicked out of Stanford, I went into a tailspin," Chuck said. "I had hoped that Jill and I—she was my college sweetheart, but she told me she was sleeping with Bryce, only I later found out that she wasn't, but by then it turned out she was a Fulcrum agent and she seduced me and then tried to turn me over to them—" Chuck closed his eyes and covered them with his hand. "God, my life sounds like a spy soap opera." He ran his hand down his face, then looked up as he let his hand fall away. "Anyway... I had hoped that she and I might... last, you know? But then she and Bryce—well, I fell into a hole for five years."

Chuck sighed. "Ellie and Morgan did their best, but I had no idea what to do with myself. The things I thought I had wanted were permanently out of my reach. I mean, who is going to hire somebody who got kicked out of a top university? And if I couldn't get a good job, what could I possibly offer a woman, never mind a beautiful one who could have her pick of a world full of better prospects? I couldn't provide for her, or any children we might have."

He shrugged. "So I just avoided thinking about it. I avoided dating like the plague, and I played a lot of video games with Morgan. I knew the Buy More job was a dead end, but at least I was good at it, and I had my coworkers' respect. I was comfortable there, except for the part where I could always hear Ellie's voice in the back of my head, telling me I was meant for better things." Chuck sighed. "And thus I would have gone on indefinitely, were it not for you."

Sarah smiled and reached for his hand. He looked down at their joined fingers and swallowed, pressing his lips in a tight smile.

"I was fond of Jill," he said, "but I didn't know what love was until I met you."

A lump rose in Sarah's throat and she forced it down. She was beginning to understand what he meant.

Chuck turned his hand over under hers and intertwined their fingers. "Someone once asked me if you were worth dying for, and for an instant, I couldn't understand why he would have to ask. It wasn't even a question for me. It was just—of _course_. You were _Sarah_. So you see..." He squeezed her hand. "...what I did back at our house, when Quinn was there? It wasn't a sacrifice, or anything extraordinary, not to me. It was as natural as breathing. I couldn't have _not_ done it."

Yes, she would fight her way across Thailand for this man. She would walk into the jaws of death itself, if it meant protecting him.

Tears welled up in her eyes—God, how many times had this happened today? He was turning her into as much of an emotional incontinent as he was!—and she laughed softly. She pulled on his hand, tugging him close, and they leaned over the corner of the table until their foreheads were touching. She closed her eyes and cupped the back of his head, and he rested his free hand on her knee.

They held that position for a long moment, and then he tilted his head up slightly, nudging her cheek with his nose. She turned her head and met him for a kiss. It was sweet, and rather wet, and when they pulled apart, they both gave a soft laugh as they dried their faces.

"Everything that you said about what you wanted for the future," she whispered. "I want it, too. All of it."

His eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yeah."

Chuck suddenly sat back, gently extracting himself from her grasp. "Just a sec."

He got to his feet and quick-walked around the corner, disappearing down the hall toward the bedroom.


	5. Chapter 5

_5_

Sarah sat still, wondering what was going on. A minute later, Chuck reappeared. He was holding a familiar-looking pair of black sunglasses in his hand.

"I don't need the Intersect," he announced, retaking his seat and setting the sunglasses down on the table between them. "You're right, it's more danger than it's worth. And even if nobody pulled a Serenity fruity-oaty-bars move on us through a public TV, there's still the fact that if I were to flash on something on the evening news in the privacy of our own home, I'd have a hard time not informing the authorities, because my inaction could lead to the deaths of innocent people, and that's just not my style. It would eat me alive."

Sarah nodded, frowning down at the sunglasses. "And if you called in the tip, you'd raise red flags."

"Exactly."

"What are these?"

"They're Intersect glasses that I've quietly had for years. Bryce gave them to me. I've kept them loaded with a suppression program I designed. It's the same one I used on Shaw to finally remove his Intersect, before we sent him back to prison. It was a mercy; his mental state was deteriorating rapidly. The Ring had installed an Intersect in him, but I wouldn't be surprised if it had faults similar to the one that you downloaded. It seemed to have wiped out what little personality he had." Chuck did not smile at this observation. "I thought keeping a suppression pair handy would be a good idea."

Sarah nodded. "Wise."

"I brought these home today because I wanted to use them, but I didn't want to make the decision without you. Having the Intersect is a significant advantage, and once I give it up, I can't get it back."

"But you don't want it."

"No, I don't."

"Why?"

Chuck sighed and frowned. "Because having it makes me and everyone I love a magnet for bad guys of all stripes, and it practically _requires_ the U.S. government and the international intelligence community to keep interfering with our lives. I want to be _done_ with all of that."

Sarah narrowed her eyes. "Is giving up this advantage really worth it? If you're already a person of interest, maybe we shouldn't be too hasty." She waved a hand. "We could always sleep on it..."

"Yeah, you could," Chuck said. "I already _did_ sleep on it. To be honest, I didn't actually get a lot of sleep last night."

"Why?"

"Oh, worrying about you, worrying about having the Intersect in my head again—this isn't the same version as the _last_ one I had in my head, and who knows what _new_ side-effects there might be?—worrying about who might be coming after me for it, worrying about you, worrying about the future, worrying about our business transition—do I really want to start a new firm without you to help me run it?—worrying about you, worrying about whether I should keep the Intersect or suppress it, worrying about you..." He gave her a lopsided smile.

Sarah returned it and briefly looked down.

"I won't rush this decision if you're not comfortable with it," he said, his words drawing her to look up at him. "Sure, having the Intersect makes some things much easier—it allows us to be more proactive and less reactive, for example—but the kinds of threats that the Intersect is best suited for are _more_ likely to show up on our doorstep if I keep it. If I don't have it, maybe those threats will stay away... for a while."

"But there's no guarantee of that."

"True. But there's no guarantee that the Intersect will be able to protect us, either. Just by its nature, it's out of date soon after it's downloaded, and only regular updates will keep its intel reliable. Updates that I won't have access to unless we rejoin the CIA."

"But what about all the skills? Those don't go out of date."

"Yeah, but I can operate just fine on my own when it comes to martial arts and marksmanship, and I don't currently have a pressing need to speak fluent Thai."

"Having all those abilities must be such a _high_ , though!" Sarah exclaimed. "How can you just... give that up?"

He laughed. "It _is_ an incredible rush." Chuck settled more comfortably in his chair, his shoulders relaxing. "But I don't need that drug anymore. My confidence is no longer based on having the Intersect. I don't need it to win you back, I don't need it to work alongside you, and I don't need it to keep you with me. You're going to stay—or leave—for your own reasons, whether or not I have the Intersect." Chuck smiled. "But more important, I've learned that I can save the world without it. And so can you."

She chuckled, then sobered and frowned at the sunglasses for a long moment. She raised her eyes to look at him. "If you're sure."

"I am."

"Then remove it."

With a curt nod, Chuck started to lift the glasses up to his face, but she put a hand on his arm.

"Is it going to hurt? Should you be lying down?"

He gave her a bitter smile. "It's not going to be comfortable, but no, this one shouldn't hurt."

She frowned. "What do you mean, 'this one'?"

Chuck turned the glasses over in his hands. "I've had the Intersect removed twice before. The first time, it was paralyzing but not painful, and I fainted. The second time was when Decker captured me. He had a pair of glasses that contained a removal program that was apparently designed to hurt as much as possible and to render me unconscious in the process—it was probably based on the program my father had created to remove the first Intersect, but Decker's was much more vicious. Anyway, his men restrained me and forced the glasses on me, holding my eyes open until I lost consciousness." Chuck winced. "It made my eyes burn and gave me a splitting headache." He gave a short, mirthless laugh. "At least I woke up feeling lighter."

Sarah realized her fists were clenched, and she forced them to relax.

Chuck gestured with the glasses in his hand. "When I made these for Shaw, I made sure to slow down the process of releasing the encoded images, which should put less strain on the optic nerve, and I limited the changes to a recursive pointer realignment instead of a full-deletion overwrite, using a domino effect where, once the glasses get the process started, the brain automatically does the rest of the work of executing the algorithm. Ellie's research helped me figure out how to repurpose the Omen virus to structure this kind of more natural cascade." Chuck looked briefly pleased with himself. "It still renders the Intersect inert, but it shouldn't hurt as much and it doesn't leave the wearer unconscious."

Sarah blinked, deciding not to bother trying to follow the sea of technobabble, and focused on the more important question. "But why go to all that trouble for Shaw?"

"Because I know how much it hurt."

Sarah frowned. "But from what you've said, he repeatedly tried to hurt us. And leaving him unconscious would have made it easier to secure him."

"That's true, but I didn't know what kind of effect a Decker-style removal program would have on Shaw," Chuck replied. "Shaw was already unstable with the Ring Intersect. He had been a good man, once. He had loved his wife, but when she was taken from him—" Chuck paused briefly before pressing on. "—it drove him to make compromises. Combined with the Ring Intersect, it eventually led to sociopathy. He was mentally ill. I didn't want to destroy his mind completely."

"But Decker's program didn't destroy yours."

"I'm... different," Chuck said with a shrug. "The Intersect doesn't seem to work in other people as well as it works in me. I don't know why. Maybe I can retain a more complete and accurate copy of it, so it doesn't degrade as quickly over time. Maybe it's because—" His eyes took on a faraway look and he fell silent for a moment. Then he glanced down at the glasses in his hands and back up to her. "No, I'm not sure. So: we're in agreement? I remove the Intersect, and we don't look back?"

She reached for his hand and intertwined her fingers with his. Meeting his gaze, she nodded.

He took a deep breath, then slid the glasses onto his face.

After a moment, his grip on her fingers tightened and he stiffened in his chair. This removal program might not hurt as much, but it didn't look pleasant, either. Images flickered on the inside surface of the glasses for about ten seconds. He remained frozen for a long moment after the images finished flashing. Finally, he sagged forward and released his breath, reflexively blinking behind the dark shades. He shook his head as if to clear it, then winced and pulled off the glasses, dropping them on the tabletop.

He slouched back in the chair and dropped his head, letting his eyes fall closed with a groan. She kept her fingers twined with his.

"Chuck?" she asked.

"I'm okay," he answered slowly. "Though I wouldn't mind stretching out on the couch for a couple minutes."

"All right," she said, eyeing him with concern. "Follow me."

He looked at her through bleary, slitted eyes, then closed them again and pushed himself to his feet, letting her lead him over to the couch. When they reached it, he watched her as she took a seat on the far left and propped her heels up on the coffee table, then patted her thighs.

Chuck grinned, then seemed to regret it, wincing instead as he took his seat near the other end of the couch. He bent to untie his sneakers, toeing them off before he gingerly laid himself down, placing his head on her lap and getting his long legs and sock-clad feet draped over the opposite end of the couch.

When he finally relaxed, sinking against her with a quiet sigh, he closed his eyes and smiled.

"What is it?" she murmured, enjoying the weight of him there. She ran her fingers through his hair and he hummed.

"This is just something you like to do," he answered, still smiling. "You usually like to watch TV, too."

"What about you?"

"I don't mind," he said, his voice already relaxing into drowsiness. "Watch away. I'll just... give my eyes a rest."

She started to reach for the remote on the end table, then paused. "Could you turn off the music?"

"Oh, right," he murmured, reaching into his pocket. Barely opening his eyes, he turned on his phone, tapped an app, and, one button press later, the music ceased.

"Thanks."

"Mm," he replied, and stuffed his phone back in his pocket. One of her forearms was resting on his chest, so he wrapped his hands around it and quieted.

She flipped through a few channels until she found something mildly interesting on, some sort of sitcom. It seemed to be about an apartment full of nerds, but Sarah liked the blonde woman, who was the only character who made sense. The nerds were cute, in their own way, and she chuckled at their cluelessness.

Chuck sighed. She looked down at him, but the sound seemed to have just been a shift in his breathing patterns. Had he fallen asleep? She continued idly stroking his hair as she let her eyes travel over his features, enjoying them. Yeah, she could get used to this view every day. His thick, dark hair was cropped close to his scalp, but it curled slightly in some places. She wondered what it had felt like to run her fingers through it when it was a lot longer, and then she wondered if she had ever gotten the chance to find out. Given how short it was now, though, there wasn't much she could do except run her fingernails over his scalp. When she tried, it elicited a long sigh of contentment from him, and she smiled.

She let her gaze travel over him, and something deep in her squeezed, her earlier curiosity now flaring up into more. She had kept a lid on herself since their kiss on the beach, but as she let her eyes wander his face, and then down the length of his body, admiring what she saw, she wondered what she would discover if she let herself explore more of him. Was it too soon? She thought she wanted this, but what if they started something and then she realized it was a mistake and wanted to stop? She didn't relish the thought of doing that to him, but she also didn't want to feel pressured by guilt to finish what she had started, because if she did, then he would think they were fine, and he would want more later, and she would be trapped in a lie...

She was spiraling. She focused on running her fingers along his temple, then drew in a deep breath and slowly released it.

How likely was it that she would regret trying? Her previous self had thought him worth _marrying_ , so there was that. Was she going to trust her earlier self's judgment? He was still the same man that she had married; the question was how much _she_ had changed.

But some things didn't change, not like that. Her conscious memories were gone, but her body still responded to his. Plus, he made her feel safe. She had every reason to believe that he would take good care of her if she let him, and she was more than a little turned on by the thought that, even though she didn't know him as a lover at all, he knew a lot about her. And given that she had gone so far as to marry him, he probably knew how to make great use of that knowledge. She grinned, her body warming in anticipation.

Okay, she should just admit it to herself right now: she wanted him. She wanted to know everything about him. She wanted to know how he would respond if she tried _this_ and _that_ , and what sounds he would make when she ran her hand just along _there_...

She almost started to do it, but stilled her hand just in time. No. She wasn't going to start in the middle, not for a moment like this. She wasn't the only one who had a choice to make here. Doing that to him now would be patently unfair, because she was certain that if she did do it, his body _would_ respond, and she didn't want him to feel coerced in the slightest. No, this called for a different approach.

Besides, he hadn't seemed to be up for much of anything after he had used the glasses. Maybe it just wasn't in the cards for tonight.

She couldn't stop the disappointment that rose at that thought, and it made her smile because she was even more certain of what she wanted, but she quieted herself and decided to give it time. If it was meant to be, it would happen. She would make sure of that.

Still smiling, she went back to watching the television show. When it ended, she switched off the TV, set the remote down, and gave Chuck's chest a little rub with her thumb.

He hummed and stretched a little, as if cracking his neck, before he settled again and slowly opened his eyes. His sleepy, relaxed movements sent a curl of desire through her.

"Hey," she said softly.

His gaze flickered up to hers and he smiled. "Hey." He stretched his arms, then sat up with a yawn, swinging his legs down to the floor. "How was The Big Bang Theory?"

"I liked it," she said.

"Good," he replied, "because we've got all four seasons so far on DVD, and it's done wonders for our relationship."

She gave a short laugh. "What?"

"I'm a nerd, you're the waitress," he explained, pulling up one leg and sitting back against his corner of the couch. He stretched his arms out along the tops of the cushions. "Sometimes one of us will do something irritating, and it's great to be able to say—" Chuck gestured at the TV. "'Remember the time Sheldon went off on that poncho/sarape rant? You just did that.', and then it's immediately clear why that was the wrong thing to do."

She smiled. "So what you're saying is that I'm going to have to dedicate the next few weeks to binge-watching The Big Bang Theory so I have a shorthand for correcting you?"

"Or for being corrected _by_ me," he replied with a smirk.

"We'll see about that."

The smile he gave her melted her insides into a puddle. _Challenge accepted._

Speaking of which.

She pulled her feet off the coffee table and, tucking her legs under herself, she rose up on her knees. Deliberately putting her hand on his where it rested on the back of the couch, she closed the distance between them.

His eyes widened slightly and his lips parted, but he otherwise didn't move. She braced her arms and leaned down for a kiss. It was brief, just a press, and then she drew back to meet his eyes.

"Are you...?" he asked.

"Mm-hmm," she replied, giving a deliberate nod.

A fleeting mix of emotions crossed his face, flashes of delight and fear, before he finally settled on concern.

He swallowed. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Because you don't have to prove anything."

"I'm not trying to prove anything," she said. "I want this. I want you."

"Really?" He seemed genuinely surprised.

"Really." She reached up to cup his jaw, running her thumb over the faint stubble there. It wasn't visible yet; it was just a texture. But it said _masculinity_ and her body said _yes_. She lowered her mouth—

"There's no rush," he breathed, still frozen beneath her, his eyes wide.

"I know that." She frowned and pulled back. "Do you not want this right now?"

His eyebrows rose and he waved his hands quickly. "No—I mean yes—I mean, no, I would love nothing more!—but you barely know me, we've only spent a few days together since you woke up, and with everything we've gone through, we haven't had much time to, you know, reconnect—" He cut himself off abruptly with a confused frown, his embarrassed awkwardness somehow making him even more adorable.

She gave him a slow smile and undulated her hips a bit. "We have time to _reconnect_ now..."

He swallowed, his eyes going wide and still, as if he were seeing her in an entirely different light. She paused to enjoy his expression—it was a mix of awe and adoration and 'should I pinch myself?' and a little bit blank—and she wondered what was going through that incredible head of his.

After a moment of this, though, when he still hadn't moved, she frowned slightly.

"What is it?" she asked. "Do I have a piece of kale in my teeth?"

"Um..." he said, refocusing on her, but now his gaze flickered between her cleavage and her face. "Uh... no?"

She chuckled and watched with glee as he reddened a bit.

He cleared his throat, but still spoke in a slightly thick tone. "It's just that sometimes... you break my brain."

She settled on her haunches with a giggle. "I do?"

Chuck was back to being fully conscious; his eyes sparkled with humor and just a touch of threat.

"Well, c' _mon_ , _look_ at you!" he exclaimed, waving his hands up and down to take in her whole figure.

Sarah smirked and rose up on her knees again, lifting one and nudging it against the inside of one of his. He didn't have to be asked twice; he quickly shifted his leg back to make room for her, finally opening his frame to her advance.

She smiled. Adjusting her stance, she leaned down, reveling in the power she had, and let her lips drift by his ear. "I'll take your word for it."

He made a small noise, and by the time her mouth captured his, he had closed his eyes in surrender.

Just _knowing_ that made her a hot mess.

The kiss started slow and seductive, and she used all of her training to make it the best that she could for him. It was apparently working, if his low moans were any indication. The sounds sent things tingling and spiraling through her all the way down.

Suddenly the distance between them was too far—she wanted to press as much of herself as possible against as much of him as she could reach, and she leaned forward eagerly, arching as she let go of her hold on the back of the couch, _yes_ —

But he hissed and broke the kiss with a wince.

She immediately drew back, taking her hands off him, pulling herself up and away. Her skin felt hot and prickled. "What's wrong?"

Chuck looked down, grimacing as he braced his arms on the couch to push himself up to a straighter sitting position. He did not meet her eyes.

"Chuck..." she prompted, a low note entering her voice.

He finally looked up at her. "I have a couple of broken ribs," he admitted, and she froze. His eyes weren't accusing, just matter-of-fact. "They were only minor breaks, hairline fractures, and they're healing well. It usually doesn't hurt anymore. Except when someone puts weight on my sternum."

"I'm sorry," she said immediately, sinking back onto her haunches. _Way to kill the mood, Sarah._

Chuck blew out a breath and sat forward, sliding his leg out from underneath her. When he broke contact, she turned away and uncurled her body, putting her feet on the floor. A sick lump formed in the pit of her stomach.

Chuck surprised her by reaching over to still her hands, which she realized she was kneading.

"It's okay," he said softly, his warm, larger hand gently squeezing hers. "You couldn't have known. I didn't tell you."

"But I was the one who broke them, wasn't I?" she asked, and dammit, her eyes were filling up with tears _again_.

He swallowed and gave her a sad smile. "It's hard to tell which hit actually did it. Let's just say that Quinn's bullet certainly didn't help."

She sagged.

"Shhh, hey..." he said, wrapping an arm around her back and switching the grip on her hands to his other one. "It's okay."

"No," she snapped. "No, it is damn well _not_ okay."

He remained beside her, but didn't say anything. She glared at the coffee table through the blur and wondered how the hell he could be so calm. His arm stroked up and down her back, making her sway a little, and then she felt his forehead rest against the side of her head.

He drew away after a moment, leaving the spot cold—

"Hey," he murmured, _in her ear_ , and his warm breath sent a tingle through her. She closed her eyes. "I love you."

She released a shaky breath, then tipped her head to rest it on his shoulder until the sting in her eyes receded. Blinking back her tears and sniffling, she lifted her head and looked down at their intertwined fingers. She turned her palms up to cup his hand, regarding it with a slight frown.

His nose nudged her cheek, so she turned to face him and let him kiss her gently.

"Are you sure you want this?" she asked, when they parted. "With me?"

"Yes."

"How can you put it behind you so easily?" she pressed on. "If our positions had been reversed, I'm not sure I could let you in like this again, knowing what you did to me. I couldn't see you without remembering it, especially not when it came time to make myself vulnerable."

Chuck gave her a look. "Do you honestly think, if I had tried to assault you, that I would have still been able to stand by the end of it?"

Sarah gave a bitter laugh. "No, you're right. I would never have let you beat me like that."

"And there it is," he murmured. "You underestimate me. I _let_ you beat me."

She gave him an incredulous look and he chuckled.

"I'm not saying I could take you in a prolonged fight, but I have enough skill to have prevented you from doing what you did, if I had chosen to go on the offensive."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because I wanted you to know that you could trust me not to hurt you, no matter what. Winning your trust back was more important than defending myself against you."

She shook her head in disbelief. "Who _are_ you?"

He laughed, then sobered. "Your husband."

Sarah sighed, frowned slightly, and turned away, dropping her head onto his shoulder again.

"Do you really think we can make this work?"

"Yes, I do." His arm tightened across her back, and then he relaxed and returned to rubbing small, comforting circles at the base of her spine.

"Why?"

"Because we're still here, together," he answered, "and it's a new day."

The phrase reminded her of something... what was it? _It's a new dawn, a new... day. It's a new life..._

"What's wrong?" Chuck asked, squeezing her hands and running his thumb over them.

She raised her head to look at him. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong. Only... I've got this earwig. Just words. They're a memory of something... I think. On the beach, they were there, too."

His eyes searched her face. "What words?"

She grimaced, sure it was going to sound stupid. "'It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life.'"

To her utter surprise, his face relaxed into a huge grin. "That's a memory, all right."

"What is it a memory of?"

Still smiling, he said, "Come with me."

He stood up and went over to open the wooden cabinet in the corner of the room. Following him, she peered around his shoulder and saw that from top to bottom, the cabinet's shelves were filled with old LPs. He crouched down for a moment and ran his fingers over the spines, muttering to himself until he triumphantly announced "Simone!" and plucked out a record.

Straightening up and turning, he curled his fingers around hers and smiled. She let herself be led past the couch, through the living room, down the short hall, and into his—their—bedroom.

He uncovered a turntable that sat on the far end of his computer desk, then carefully slid the vinyl record out of its sleeve. While he was putting the record on the spindle, Sarah picked up the album cover.

"'Nina Simone,'" she read aloud. " _I Put a Spell on You_. Hm. I've never heard of her." She flipped the album cover over, admiring how well-preserved it was. "How old is this?"

Chuck switched the turntable on. "It came out in 1965."

"Wow, this must be worth something."

Chuck smiled as he accepted it from her, and he ran his fingertips over it. "It's priceless. It belonged to my parents. The whole collection did. Sometimes, when I put a record on, I remember them curled up together listening to it, back when we were happy, and together."

Sarah pressed her lips in a flat line, wishing she could imagine even that much about her parents. But their relationship had been over before she was even born.

Chuck laid the album cover and sleeve down, then took her hands and encouraged her to sit on the bed. She frowned a little in confusion, but sat down anyway.

He carefully lifted the needle and placed it on the vinyl surface, just along the very edge, then turned to look at her with an expectant smile.

The opening strains of the song began: a woman's deep voice, wandering freely without accompaniment, ranging up and down, but always relaxed.

Something in Sarah eased, and she smiled. "I like this."

Chuck grinned. "I know." He sat down beside her, then half-lifted his legs, his gesture a request for her to move back so he could stretch out on the mattress.

She quickly scooted to make room for him and, when he had settled, she lay down beside him. When he raised his arm, inviting her to cuddle against him, she easily rolled into place—then paused and held her arm in midair, worried.

"The sore ribs are on the other side," Chuck assured her. "It's okay."

She had just settled into his arms with a happy sigh—still being careful not to put any weight on his sternum—when the rich voice on the record sang, "...it's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life for me, ooh... and I'm feeling good!", and the music suddenly opened up, brassy and rhythmic and satisfying.

Sarah exhaled a little laugh and closed her eyes, cuddling against him. Chuck's arms tightened around her, and she felt his warm lips press against her forehead. The pace of the song, slow and confident and steady, and its lyrics, which celebrated the lazy, happy, everyday beauty in the world, relaxed her and made her smile. Chuck loosened his arms and shifted his near leg, nudging it against hers, and she acquiesced, letting her top leg shift forward until her knee rested on the bed between his. She tucked her feet in close to his calves and reveled in how wonderful it felt to press the whole length of herself against his comfortable warmth.

They lay together, content, until the song drew to a close. Then Chuck disengaged from her and got up to remove the needle.

"Wait," Sarah said, sitting up, and he turned to glance at her in question. "Play it one more time."

A brief frown of surprise crossed his features, but he nodded and put the needle back in place, then gave her a slow smile as he climbed onto the bed. She patted the mattress beside her, inviting him to lie down in his previous spot. As she watched his movements, she could see where he was being just a touch careful, now that she knew what to look for. When he was fully settled on his back again, he opened his arms, but she regarded him for a moment, considering. She knew what she _wanted_ to do, but could she do it without putting any weight on his chest?

She smiled and rose up, planting her hands on either side of his shoulders and her knees on either side of his hips, and enjoyed the expression on his face as he took her in. His hands settled on her waist, and she bent down to kiss him, long and slow, in perfect rhythm with the music.

It _was_ a new day, a new life, and here, with him, she was feeling _good_.

He lifted his knees and planted his feet on the bed, bringing his legs into contact with her bottom, effectively keeping her in place. She chuckled against his lips and he grinned, reaching up to stroke her hair before pulling her head back down for more.

As the music went on, she focused on the taste and feel of him, learning how he liked to use his tongue, and what prompted a rush of passion or a groan of pleasure from him. Doing this with him was so _easy_. They teased and asked and answered, and paused to breathe before asking some more. She explored his jaw, his ear, his neck, loving the way that he moaned and let her, his hands tightening on her hips. When she dipped her tongue in the hollow of his throat, he writhed a bit and she laughed softly. More of _that_ , please!

The song soon ended and she drew back, flushed and smiling, to allow him to get up and put the record away. Then she decided she didn't feel like waiting for him to finish before she could touch him again, so she got up and loosely snaked her arms around his waist while he carefully reassembled the album. She rested her cheek in the crevice of his spine, between his lean-muscled shoulders, and closed her eyes. When she felt his movements slow and heard him lay the album down on top of the covered turntable, she ran her hands up the sides of his torso until she found his pecs, and she scratched her fingernails over his nipples. He gave a small hiss and shivered slightly, despite the two layers of fabric between her skin and his, and she smiled.

He turned in her arms and caught her up in a kiss. His hands drifted down her back, fingers brushing the top of her ass in a question, and she put her arms around his neck, eagerly continuing the kiss and telling him to go for it. He did, giving an appreciative, low growl, and she gloried in the feeling of his large, warm hands cupping her bottom possessively. For the briefest moment, he started to lift her, and she braced to pull herself up and wrap her legs around him, but then his lips faltered and he seemed to reconsider the movement. He instead just pulled her against him. She grinned into the kiss, enjoying the feel of his arousal, and pressed him back against the desk until he had to sit down on the edge of it.

"What was that for?" he asked, half-smiling, when she let him come up for air.

She regarded him seriously. "You couldn't pick me up."

His eyes flickered with something: fear? Disappointment? "I'm strong enough to."

"But it started to hurt."

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

He frowned and looked down, but she only leaned further into the space between his legs and put her hands on either side of his face, tilting his head back up.

"Chuck, it's okay."

He grimaced. "I know how much you like being lifted like that. Normally, it's not a problem."

"I believe you." She searched his face for a moment, again seeing that flicker of fear, and something clicked into place for her. "Chuck, listen to me: nothing is riding on this."

His brows drew down. "What?"

She smiled. "No matter what happens tonight—or doesn't—I'll still be here tomorrow."

His eyes widened slightly as his eyebrows rose, but when he saw that she meant her words, he relaxed and his expression warmed into a smile that wrinkled his nose. "Really?"

His uncertainty broke her heart, so she drew him into a firm kiss.

"Really," she murmured, pulling back to meet his gaze. "You've spent so long trying to regain my trust—you don't have to do that anymore. You have it. My staying with you isn't riding on whether we have mind-blowing sex tonight. I—" She swallowed. Was she really going to say this? But she couldn't deny the tugging of her heart, and what she wanted, and how he made her feel. "—I love you."

He exhaled suddenly, his eyes growing damp, and he kissed her.

"Now," she said, when they parted, "I've had broken ribs before, and when I did, I can tell you that having sex was absolutely the _last_ thing I wanted to do. Are you sure you're up for this?"

He gave her a lopsided grin and chuckled. "Look, it's been nearly three weeks since our last time. _Hell_ yeah, I'm up for this."

"Okay," she said with a laugh, and grinned. "Me, too. So what can I do to make this comfortable for you?"

He glanced over her shoulder at the bed, considering. "You on top will probably be easiest—as long as you don't grip me too hard with your legs."

She warmed at the thought of having him underneath her, and he chuckled, watching her.

She felt her ears growing hot, and quickly cleared her throat. "Spooning could work, too, as long as you're on your uninjured side."

He nodded and let out a soft laugh. "I can't believe we're just... discussing this."

She frowned. "Do we normally find it difficult to talk about sex?"

"Oh—no. No, I mean, just a few hours ago, I thought you were leaving town. And now we're—" He gave a helpless, happy gesture and she smiled, then started working down the buttons on his shirt. He sobered and stilled, and when she glanced up, she saw that he was watching her with eyes that were filled with warmth, fondness, appreciation, desire...

He was wearing a white t-shirt under the olive button-down, and as she pushed the olive shirt off his shoulders, she took a moment to admire them, running her thumbs over the curves that the t-shirt still hid. Chuck grinned and pulled his arms out of the overshirt's sleeves, bending forward slightly as he tugged them off behind himself. She enjoyed the show; the t-shirt hugged his torso, revealing more than the olive button-down had but without being too tight, and it showed off some nice definition. He dropped the overshirt on the floor and put his hands on her waist.

She started to tug at the hem of his t-shirt, which, like the olive shirt, hadn't been tucked in, but he made a noise and halted her hands with his elbows.

"My turn," he murmured, and the next thing she knew, his warm hands were slipping up her back, under the edges of her camisole and sweater. She sighed into his touch, rested her hands on his shoulders, and closed her eyes. Her back had always been a sensitive, pleasurable zone: light touch, massage, long strokes during sex—it didn't matter, it all felt so good. Her mouth drifted open and she arched up slightly.

He took advantage of the opening, settling in to explore her throat, then the underside of her jawline, sending heat curling over her skin until he captured her earlobe between his lips and sucked on it. The warmth of the breath from his nostrils swirled into her ear and, combined with what he was doing to her back, it made her toes curl.

She moaned and squeezed, and he gave an amused, encouraging rumble in the back of his throat. His hands slid around to the front of her torso and his thumbs bumped against the bottom of her camisole's built-in bra, then snuck just underneath it and ran along the edge of the soft flesh, rubbing a tease and a promise. She groaned; he recaptured her lips and exhaled warmth when he laughed softly.

Oh God, this was torture! She wanted to peel off her clothes already! She started to hurriedly shrug out of her sweater, still kissing him, and was pleased with how quickly they managed to get her out of it. Then, in between kisses, he expertly lifted her camisole over her head as she wriggled out, and she laughed, intensely relieved by the feeling of freedom.

Chuck dropped the shirt and looked down at her chest. "Hi-yo...!" he breathed, a delighted smile playing on his lips.

He must have enjoyed this view countless times, yet he still looked like he was amazed to see it.

His hands were resting at the base of her spine, and he ran his fingertips lightly up her back, making her gasp with pleasure and arch—which must have been exactly what he intended, because it pulled her chest up and made it easier for his mouth to reach her breasts. She laughed softly and ran her hands up into his hair as he closed his eyes, placing soft kisses on the swells, one at a time, with a kind of reverence and an appreciative hum.

The warmth of his mouth drifted with slow, exquisite torture until he finally drew one sensitive, peaked nipple between his lips and gave it a lazy swirl with his tongue. The movement sent something straight down into her and she whimpered. He hummed in encouragement, still suckling, then broke away gently. She clutched the back of his head, not wanting him to leave—but—oh—he was paying attention to her other breast now, and there were tingles sparking from that one, too.

 _Now now now now_ she wanted him inside her, needed the relief, but she blew out a breath. It was only too bad that he couldn't lift her right now, because she would have liked nothing more than to be picked up and borne down to the bed, reveling in his strength and confidence. They would kick off the rest of their clothing and she would help him ready himself and then he'd be in her— _God_ —

But he couldn't do that, not right now. It would hurt too much, crash-landing like that.

 _Slow down. Think. Make this about him, not about you._

Right.

But it was difficult to think while she endured the slow torture that he was inflicting on her, and thinking was overrated, anyway— _oh_ —

She wanted her legs around him _right now_ and she couldn't take any more, so she tugged his head up.

"Your turn," she said, getting her hands under his shirt and pulling it up. She was careful to avoid running her knuckles over the side of his ribcage, and she watched as he lifted the shirt over his head and hid a fleeting grimace of discomfort at the last moment.

And there it was, just under his pectoral muscle: a wide swath of yellowed skin, mottled with fading light green that edged under his chest hair. He had been right; he was healing well. But it was hard to avoid noticing the distinctive vertical path of part of the bruise. It was the kind of mark a foot made. Her foot. Her final kick, which had sent him crashing down the stairs.

And there and there, a stripe—hitting the edge of a stair, and more than one. He had been playing his injuries down. This wasn't just one bruise, it was a scattering of them, layered on top of one another in places.

He captured her light, roving fingers. "It looks worse than it is," he said quietly. "Really."

She bent and placed a kiss on his chest, then remained there a moment, letting his hair tickle her nose. She lightly brushed her fingertips over his nipples, treasuring each catch of his breath. He had given her so much. Giving him this was the least she could do.

She drifted further down, undid his belt, then straightened to kiss his lips as she tugged on the button at the top of his jeans. He helped her by standing up, making it easier to get the button free, but when she started to sink down for a better look, he cupped her elbows to keep her standing. She fumbled, tugged—was the zipper caught on something?—but he freed it and a moment later, she was pushing the waistband down his hips, laughing as he tried to keep kissing her while he did a dance to kick his jeans off.

He was chuckling against her lips too, and once he'd gotten free of the offending garment, he pulled her in flush against him and took the kiss seriously. She started to try to unbutton her jeans, but he broke away and captured her hands with a shake of his head.

"Not yet," he murmured. "I want to look at you."

She pursed her lips and arched an eyebrow, drawing back to let him look, but he only shook his head.

"Not here," he said, then tugged her toward the bed and gestured at it. "Here."

She frowned slightly. She had a plan: she was going to get him to lie down, and then she was going to keep from hurting him by encouraging him to relax while she made love to him. She was going to do the lion's share of the work. She was going to make tonight about him, not about her own needs. She wanted to see and feel him come, and then this coil in her would relax.

But he wanted to look at her, lying half-naked on his bed. Okay. She could postpone her plan. If this was what he wanted, then she would do it.

She climbed onto the bed as smoothly as she could, accentuating her movements to try to give him a good show. A little arch of her back, a sinuous movement, spreading her legs a bit wide as she moved...

He made a low noise and she smiled.

"How do you want me?" she asked over her shoulder, lowering her eyelashes and smiling in a come-hither way.

He chuckled and followed her, placing a hand on her hip and encouraging her to roll onto her back.

"Just get comfortable," he said.

That was supposed to be _her_ line! She suppressed a frown as she lay back, doing her best to keep her eyes on his face, to keep from looking at the colors marring his side and chest.

He narrowed his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Wrong?" she repeated. "Nothing's wrong."

He paused in his movements, one knee on the bed near her feet, and fixed her with a look.

She sighed and dropped her hands. "It's nothing. It's just that I—I wanted to do this to _you_."

He frowned. "You want me to put my jeans back on?"

"What? No. I mean, I want you to lie back, relax, and... and let me take care of you."

His expression cleared and he grinned. "There'll be plenty of time for that," he said. "Right now—let's just say I've been dreaming about this."

"Dreaming?" she asked, unable to keep the smile out of her voice. "About what?"

He climbed up onto the bed on his knees, grasping her ankles and moving her legs apart as he did, until he had positioned her as he wished.

"Just... this," he said, reverently running a hand over one of her breasts and cupping it. He leaned down to press a gentle kiss to the soft mound of flesh before pulling back. Tilting his head, he took her in, delight and desire filling his expression, and he ran a hand along her side. His fingers traced the lines of her abdominal muscles, dipping briefly into her belly button before drifting further down to the edge of her low-rise jeans. She lifted her hips in anticipation, but he didn't start to unbutton her jeans. Instead, his eyes just flickered with amusement, and then he shifted his weight and ran his other hand down her body in a near-mirror movement.

"Wow," he whispered, then sat back on his haunches and just _looked_ at her. He gave a slight shake of his head. "This _never_ gets old."

She raised her arms and laid them near her head, elbows bent, and gave a long, sinuous wriggle, for his benefit.

He grinned and started to massage her breasts. She sighed with pleasure, letting her eyes drift closed. Her breasts were sensitive, and just a touch achy—something that she wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been working them over like this—and it meant her period was imminent—or at least, that was _usually_ what it meant.

A little curl of arousal filled her at the thought that she might be carrying his child already. Of course, it probably wasn't true. But then, the thought that it might be true someday, that he might give her that, that she might be able to give _him_ that—oh God, when had she turned into a breeder? This wasn't what usually went through her head during sex! Who _was_ she? What was she turning into? Barefoot and pregnant—and _wanting_ it? It went against everything she had trained for, planned for—

He lifted his hands off her breasts, leaving her feeling bereft and a little chilled. Then the mattress shifted near her shoulders and his lips found hers, but it was only for a brief kiss before he pulled back. She opened her eyes in question, finding him just above her, his brow furrowed.

"Do you want to stop?" he asked.

"No, no, God, no, please," she said, reaching for him.

He gave a short laugh. "I'll take that. You okay?"

"Yeah, I was just..." She swallowed. "You make me want more than anyone else I've been with ever has. It's..." Her brow furrowed, and she smiled. "It's really nice."

He tilted his head. "More what?"

"More of life, more of everything," she said. "More than just sex."

His eyebrows rose. "Well, good, because you and me? It's about _way_ more than just sex." He chuckled and grinned down at her.

"Yeah, I'm starting to realize that. Although..." She trailed off, reaching down. He was wearing black boxer-briefs, and even though they clung in all the right places and looked great on him, she wanted them _off_. She found him through the fabric and cupped him, running her hand up along his length. He squeezed his eyes closed with a low moan. "...the sex seems to be pretty great, too."

He half-laughed, half-groaned, dropping his head and moving against her hand. He made it through a few more seconds of this, but then lifted his head with a growl, capturing her hand with one of his own.

"Enough of that," he managed, pulling back and blowing out a breath. "I don't need much. Three weeks, remember? Besides, I'm not finished with _you_ yet."

His words sent a little thrill of anticipation through her. She grinned as he teasingly ran his fingers under the front edge of her jeans until he got to her fly. His fingers were deft, and he was soon tugging the jeans down as she lifted her hips.

They made quick work of their remaining clothes, but when she tried to reach for him, he pushed her back on the bed, raising his eyebrows and waggling a finger at her.

"Are you usually this bossy in the bedroom?" she teased, slightly annoyed.

He laughed and kissed her. "It depends on the day. Today..."

She pushed up onto her elbows and arched an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"I don't want you to treat me like an invalid or an apology," he said, eyeing her seriously. "If we do this, we do it together."

She regarded him for a moment, then nodded. "Okay."

He gave her a lopsided grin and slid down toward her feet. "You'll get your turn, I promise."

Was he—?!

Oh my God, he was! Her body tightened with excitement. Bryce hadn't liked doing this, something about disliking the taste of her or hating the feel of hair on his tongue, although she always kept herself neatly trimmed. Before him, she had only had two lovers, classmates during her training, neither of whom had lasted beyond hurried one-night stands. She was accustomed to either not getting this kind of attention, or having to jump through hoops to get it, but here _Chuck_ was, just nonchalantly—and with no sign of reluctance; if anything he seemed to be looking _forward_ to it—encouraging her to lift her legs so he could get comfortable—

She tried to move the way he wanted her to, to let him get his shoulders under her thighs, but then he winced and pulled back, pursing his lips, and regarded their positions with a thoughtful look.

"What's wrong?" she asked, surprised by the breathiness in her tone. Was she really so desperately eager for this?

Chuck smiled, then dipped his head for a brief, apologetic kiss. Even that was enough to make her close her eyes and draw in a quick breath. She heard him chuckle.

"We just need to be creative," he said, glancing behind himself as she opened her eyes. "My usual approach isn't going to work. Hmm."

She swallowed. "We don't _have_ to do this..."

He turned his gaze sharply to hers, but he must have seen what he was expecting, because he just laughed.

"Oh, _nooo_ ," he pronounced slowly, grinning. He pushed off the end of the bed and stood up. "You're not getting off _that_ easily." Beckoning with one finger, he said, "Come here."

She frowned. "Why are you doing this if it hurts? I don't want this if it's not comfortable for you."

"Because it's so much fun," he retorted. "And we're going to _make_ it comfortable for me. You, on the other hand..." His voice had lowered to a teasing threat, and she swallowed, then shot him a close-mouthed grin and feigned disinterest.

"Fine," she said, inching toward him and giving a toss of her head. "Do your worst."

He chuckled. Then, apparently impatient with how slowly she was moving, he gave a playful growl and, when her hips were next raised, he got a firm grip on them and suddenly pulled her to the edge of the bed. She squealed, flailing a bit as she lost her footing, but he was there, already crouching down to give her a place to anchor onto. He let her get comfortable, then met her gaze, his eyes filled with amusement.

"Lie back and close your eyes," he said.

She pouted.

"You said you trusted me," he reminded her.

But she wanted to watch him. She had always watched Bryce, so she could tell him what she wanted.

Chuck raised his eyebrows, waiting.

She put on a show of being annoyed, finally dropping her head and closing her ey—

 _Hot warmth, sweet and slick and swift, sweeping up with perfect pressure_ —

It started out low and felt amazing, so she hummed her approval, but when the sweep kept going, going up, finishing with a deft flick on the tip of her sensitive nub, her hum kept going up too, suddenly twisting into a surprised, high-pitched squeak.

And then his tongue was off her and she could feel his muffled laughter. She had reflexively clapped her hands over her mouth, because that squeak had been so _loud_ and she hadn't even known she could make a sound that high.

Chuck laughed softly and, just as she was catching her breath and starting to laugh, too, he returned to his task, and her laugh cut off with a moan. She writhed, but he didn't release her, his attentions relentless and skilled.

She found that she was convulsively clutching at the comforter underneath her, trying to relieve the warm, tingling, building pressure that he was stoking. It wasn't nearly enough, and she gritted her teeth and groaned. She wanted to straighten her legs, do _something_ , but she didn't want to press down on his shoulders, because what if it hurt him? But she couldn't remain on the edge of this bed without footing, and he was the only place where she could get comfortable purchase.

"It's okay," he murmured. "Straighten them out if you need to."

When he returned to devoting himself to her pleasure, all she could manage was a moan, and her legs were shaking as she tried to re-settle them, pointed out straight. She had the core strength for this. She could use her arms as counterbalance.

He made an approving noise, and when she had gotten into a stable position, she started to relax slightly—but that was when he began to play with his fingers too, slipping inside her and stroking, and it was a matter of mere seconds before he reduced her to a shaking, twitching mess, her whole body undulating with pleasure until she was spent, and then she sagged.

He tapered off slowly, lifting his arms to help her keep her legs on his shoulders, and he planted a soft kiss on her dampened skin. Her head was spinning. She could feel the slight rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed, and the tiniest wisps of air moving over her sensitive skin, cooling her. He moved one arm around her leg, keeping her secure in the crook of his elbow, and she heard a small noise that almost sounded like a teasing kiss.

Opening one eye in curiosity, she realized that he had been licking off his fingers. For some reason, that thought made something squeeze pleasurably inside her again, and she dropped her head back against the mattress with a soft groan.

"Had enough?" he asked, his voice rich with satisfaction and amusement.

"Oh. My. _God_."

He chuckled. "Yeah, that was what you said the _last_ first time we did that."

She opened her eyes and looked at the white ceiling plaster.

"Really?" Half-laughing.

"Mm-hmm. And you squeaked then, too." He laughed. "There was _no_ way I was going to pass up hearing that sound again."

"Am I really so predictable?" she sighed.

"Apparently." Laughter laced his speech. He gave a slight groan and pushed up at her legs. She tried to help him by lifting them off his shoulders, but her muscles were rubbery and didn't work quite right.

Between the two of them, though, they managed to get her curled up—flopped over, really—and fully supported by the mattress. After a long moment, she pulled herself up toward the head of the bed and sank onto a pillow. Chuck spooned behind her, tugging her against him. She pushed her feet between his—hers were starting to be chilled—and she sighed, feeling thoroughly relaxed and satiated.

She had _not_ been expecting that kind of attention from him at all, but she should have known better. Seeing how he loved her in other ways without holding anything back, why hadn't she realized he would be just as thorough and generous when it came to making love to her? She hadn't even needed to ask, never mind needing to wheedle or promise something in return. In fact, Chuck had persisted even over her mild _protests_.

God, this was such a fairy tale, it was... nearly unbelievable. To be loved like this...!

Chuck pressed himself against her, and she knew he needed some attention and relief. His movement didn't feel like an insistent demand, but rather like more of a patient, semi-involuntary reminder.

Her limbs were starting to feel like her own again, so she rolled over in his arms. He was watching her with warm, beautiful eyes. She smiled and kissed him, reaching down between them. _Your turn_.

She didn't pause to let him protest or slow her down, and soon enough, it became clear that he had no intention of doing so. He sighed into her touch, exhaling with all the relief of a man coming out of a drought, and something twisted in her chest at the thought of what these past weeks must have been like for him. If they had had _this_ , and then to have it ripped away so mercilessly—!

When she began to stroke his length, he shuddered, exhaling a ragged breath, and looked at her with eyes that were suddenly wet and so _happy_ that she almost— _almost_ —cried, too.

She had never loved anyone as deeply as she loved him in this moment. Years of mission logs and stories and picture frames, the clear fondness that his family and friends had for him—that even General _Beckman_ had for him!—and the sheer fact that she had _married_ him, suddenly made perfect sense.

She had _never_ been with anyone who made her feel like _this_.

The last of her reticence burned away as she kissed him and watched his eyes close, his tears squeezing out to run down his cheeks. God, she wanted to give him every possible pleasure! She wanted every touch to be a thank-you, a moment of adoration, an _exactly-right-yes..._

So she put into practice everything she knew about how to make a man feel good. She encouraged him to roll onto his back, continuing to stroke him slowly and steadily as she moved down his body to kneel near his hips. With her other hand, she cupped him fully, then ran her fingers around and under him, smiling as he whimpered and spread his legs to accommodate her. She switched to using her fingernails and grinned when his breathing hitched and he groaned, thrusting a little.

Watching as he opened himself up to her, sensitive to her touch, unreserved in his responses, trusting her, she quickly grew aroused again. She lowered her head, closed her eyes in anticipation, and took him into her mouth.

He bucked and groaned, quivering.

She moved slowly at first, listening, exploring, letting her tongue play, but when her confidence grew and she started to move in earnest, applying more pressure, he suddenly grabbed her wrist in a vise grip. She flung her eyes open to look up at him. He was trembling.

"Too—too much!" he gasped.

She quickly pulled off and sat up beside him, and he let go of her wrist, dropping his head back on the pillow with a watery chuckle. He reached up to wipe away his tear-tracks.

"Sorry," she said with a frown, mentally berating herself.

"Hey," he replied, and he gave her a lopsided smile as he lowered his hands. "You don't need to apologize. That was _amazing_."

"It's just... I know you said it's been a while, and I shouldn't have..."

He lifted a hand to touch her face, his fingertips smoothing out the tension in her brow, and she sagged, closing her eyes.

"No apologies," he repeated softly. "You didn't do anything wrong. C'mere."

Her eyes still closed, she drew up next to him and sank into his embrace, burying her face in his shoulder.

"You did such a great job for me," she murmured, swallowing. "I just wanted to return the favor."

He gave a soft laugh. "Oh, you did."

"But—"

"This isn't a contest," Chuck said. "I _know_ you. You're relearning me. It's okay. Nothing ever goes perfectly the first time you're with someone. You're doing great."

"But I should be _better_ than this," she muttered. "I'm losing my edge."

"No," he said, pulling away slightly to look at her. "You're forgetting yourself. Which means you're all _here_ , you're not somewhere else, and that's all I want. I'm not a mark you have to seduce, note-perfect. You're not being scored on your performance." He cupped her face and his expression softened. "I'm your husband, and I'm not going anywhere. Trust me, we've had _way_ worse sex than this before."

She gave him a look. "Great. Thanks. That makes me feel _so_ much better."

Chuck laughed and kissed her forehead. "Good. Now where were we?"

"Hmm," she answered in a mock-thoughtful tone, giving him a sly look as she slipped out of his arms and slithered downward again. He grinned, watching her, then moaned and dropped his head when she returned to giving him a few _light_ strokes with her tongue.

Then she teased him with more pressure, and he gave a long, low growl, half in pleasure, half in warning. She laughed as she slowly drew away, marveling at how he could make even her mistakes into something sexy. He was such an incredible gift!

She had no idea how she had gotten to be the lucky woman who could spend the rest of her life with him like this, but she closed her eyes and thought out a little _thank you_ before she sat up and started to straddle him.

Chuck's eyes flew open and he stopped her before she could settle herself.

"What is it?" she asked, frozen with one leg slightly raised.

"I—I was just hoping we could finish like this," he said.

She dropped her knee onto the bed beside his and sat back. "Sure, we can. So... spooning?"

"No," he said, sitting up gingerly—but not, she thought, because of his ribs. His eyes were dark, a certain focus in his expression that she could only think of as distinctly _male_. He swung his legs off the bed, tugging open the top drawer in the nightstand beside him and reaching inside. He pulled out a condom.

 _Oh right_ , she thought, _a condom. How could I forget that? I_ never _forget that!_

He tore the wrapper open and looked over at her. "How about standing, from behind?"

"Okay. Need help with that?"

"No, I've got it." He shot her a smile as he stood up.

She climbed off the bed and got herself ready beside it, nearly wriggling with anticipation. _Finally finally finally finally..._

"Ready?" he asked, from behind her.

"Yes, please!"

He chuckled, put his hands on her hips, and slid in— _all_ the way in.

Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open in surprise.

Oh _God_ , was he a good fit!

"Oh...!" he moaned, quivering against her. "So wet!"

He gave an experimental thrust, the movement a little jerky, and adjusted his footing slightly.

There it was again, that all-the-way-in sensation, and she groaned in surprise. She hadn't imagined it. It was unfamiliar and it felt _damn_ good.

Chuck bent over, sliding his arms around her torso. He cupped her breasts, giving them a light squeeze and a caress as he rested his weight on her and pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades.

"How're you doing?" he murmured, near her ear.

The mattress was an uneven surface and she had to work to hold up their combined weight, but she could do it. She took pride in that, and reveled in the feeling of having him wrapped around her, inside her, _hers_.

She turned her head toward him and smiled. "You feel good."

He kissed her cheek and gave a low hum, pushing forward slightly, teasing. "So do you..."

She was still getting used to the feeling of being filled so _well_. He had felt good-sized in her hand, but he was nicely proportional to the rest of him, so at the time, she hadn't stopped to think about his actual size compared to herself.

 _Now_ , though, _God_ —!

He straightened up behind her and she squeezed her eyes closed as her body rocked forward. As he began in earnest, her awareness was consumed by his movements, what he was reaching, how she was being reduced to little more than a quivering bundle of slowly rising, pleasurable sensation. Her heart pounded and her head swam and she _squeezed_ , hungry for more, more, more...

He groaned with pleasure, his frame tensing. Then he slowed for a moment, lightly running his hands over her back and hips, and she dragged in a deep breath, realizing her arms were trembling. She shifted her weight from hand to hand, shaking them out; they had been taking the brunt of his force. Her body was sparking with _heat_ and _wow_ and _filled so deep_ , and she could practically feel her heartbeat reverberating down through her...

Chuck bent over her again and she braced her arms in preparation, but he surprised her by tugging on an elbow, unlocking her arm. He was going to send her crashing face-first into the bed! She started to turn her head, annoyed, only to discover a moment later that he was pulling _both_ of her arms back. She resisted, feeling off-balance.

"C'mon," he said, sounding slightly out of breath. "Trust me."

It took her a moment to adjust her stance, but she finally allowed him to pull her arms back, holding her up and opening her chest, leaving her feeling exposed and at his mercy. She could have broken his hold, swung around, planted her foot between his, and flipped him over her hip—although maybe not that exact move in this confined space, but she could still have her knee on his neck in about three seconds—but instead, she swallowed, and surrendered to him.

"There you go, babe," he said in a low voice, locking one forearm through both of her elbows, thus leaving his other hand free to roam. He took a moment to enjoy her breast, then slid his hand up to cup her throat, the tips of his thumb and fingers brushing her earlobes. She let her eyes fall closed. She was _his_.

He gave a low rumble. "Good girl."

She chuckled. "I wouldn't have—oh..." She sighed as his hand slowly drifted down towards her breast again, his long fingers stroking her lightly.

"Mm?" he asked, his tone one of studied nonchalance, but then she _squeezed_ and heard the catch in his breath, and she smiled.

Swallowing, she tried to finish her thought. "...pegged you as being into..." God, how was he _doing_ that?! She was actually _shivering_ with pleasure! "...this kind... of... thing."

"Oh..." he said, pulling her closer and flicking, tugging, teasing at her exposed nipple. She gasped and he gave a soft laugh beside her ear, releasing her breast. "I'm into whatever _you're_ into."

She laughed, then hissed with pleasure as his hand reached down between her legs and teased her.

"Oh, God..." she moaned, in a voice that didn't sound like her at all.

His fingers drew away and he grasped her elbows with both of his hands, letting her fall forward slightly. He returned to pounding into her and she squeezed her eyes closed, her toes curling. She might have been making mewling sounds.

She could hear his breathing becoming more rough, and then he made a noise—was it pleasure or pain?—and he slowed and released her arms, quickly steadying himself with his hands on her hips. She braced herself on the mattress again.

He groaned. "I want to come," he said. "But not like this."

"Okay," she managed, her entire body so exquisitely _on_ that she was almost vibrating with the warmth and the pleasant weakness in her limbs. "How, then?"

"On the bed. You on top."

"Okay."

She blew out a breath and held steady as he withdrew. Feeling a little shaky, she stepped aside to let him get comfortable on his back on the bed. When he opened his arms, she grinned and climbed up to straddle him. They shared a moan as they came back together, and she finally got to enjoy the full view of him as he entered her. He hid nothing; there was no 'playing it cool' happening here. He was the picture of awe and gratitude and taut pleasure.

Speaking of which, now that she had more control, she could angle herself—and him— _just_ right, to get him to that _oh God so good_ place that made her whole body quiver.

But after a few pumps, she slowed and made sure her legs were relaxed. She couldn't grip his torso with her legs, and if she came like this, her legs would definitely tighten, probably involuntarily. No matter how _totally fucking amazing_ this felt right now, there was no way in hell she was going to hurt him to get herself off.

She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing, felt his hands come up to stroke her sides, cup her breasts, slide around to rub small circles on her ass before gripping it.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," she said, opening her eyes and smiling down at him. "I'm just trying _really_ hard not to come."

Something crossed his face and he caressed her bottom. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she said, and it really was. She cupped his face, then bent down to kiss him, careful not to rest any of her weight on his chest. "What do you need?"

"Just be here," he answered, matching her smile, but something flickered in his eyes. Then he raised his eyebrows and his smile tugged up on one side. "And maybe give me a squeeze or two?"

She laughed and had an _idea_. "I think I can do that."

"Good..." he exhaled, closing his eyes, and his face took on a look of singular focus as he began to move.

She could do more of the work, and so she did, trying some experimental squeezes inside and noting when he seemed to respond more strongly. She soon began to time her movements to match his, smiling as she watched him, because she knew she was playing a key part in how quickly he was ramping up.

His grip on her thighs tightened and he moaned, "Yes...!"

She closed her eyes, trying to stay in rhythm with him, keeping her legs spread wide while also ramping up herself—

He shuddered beneath her, his whole body curling up, but _no!_ —it was _too soon!_ —

She was on the verge of making a noise of protest when she heard a sudden strained growl and opened her eyes. She drew in a sharp breath. His eyes were squeezed tightly closed and his lips were pulled back in a grimace, his teeth clenched.

They were beautiful teeth, but that did _not_ look like an expression of pleasure on his face.

But what did she know of how he looked in this sort of moment?

He finished rocking, his shudders slowing, and the long growl faded into a low moan as he finally flopped back, not-quite-relaxed, still breathing hard.

Another moan, this time weaker, and his arms fell to his sides.

Despite the heartbeat still pounding its way through her, and the insistent demands of her own body, she frowned and stilled.

His face relaxed slowly, and she realized he was measuring his breaths, blowing out air in deliberate puffs.

"Oh, God!" she said in a rush, her arousal pushed into the background as she hurried to check the positions of her legs—but they weren't pressed tightly against him. She frowned. "You're in pain!"

He opened his eyes and, after an instant, they focused on her. He lifted his hands to give her legs an apologetic caress.

"Sorry about that," he managed after a second, then exhaled, his eyes falling closed again.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked.

"Oh... no," he replied, and although his eyes remained closed, he stroked her thighs once, then rested his hands against her. "No," he repeated slowly, sighing. "That was all me."

He moved inside her, just a twitch, and she was still so sensitive that she squeezed involuntarily.

He lurched and gave a pained grunt, wincing.

"Sorry! Sorry," she said quickly, her hands fluttering near his face. Then, despite how unfinished she felt, she quickly pulled herself off him. Best not to let _that_ happen again. She still wasn't completely in control of herself.

She lay next to him for a long moment, holding herself up on her elbows, feeling awkward, damp and cooling and over-sensitized.

"Nightstand," he murmured.

"What?" She looked at him. He had turned his head toward her and his eyes were filled with—what?—and a definite post-coital bleariness.

"The washcloths," he sighed. "They're in your nightstand."

"Oh." She was relieved at having something to do, and she quickly retrieved a couple of the cloths, handing him one before taking care of cleaning herself. She felt a physical disappointment, yes, and was more than a little bereft at not having him inside her anymore—God, that had felt good!—but the physical sensation would fade, given time. She didn't really feel like getting herself off: the thought of lying there, focused on herself while he was possibly still in some kind of discomfort—

She finished what she was doing and tossed the cloth on the floor, then turned to face him. He was still cleaning himself. He had removed the condom and he rolled away from her to discard it, then rolled gingerly back and lay still, closing his eyes. There was a furrow between his brows.

She felt a faint chill, so she drew close to him, wanting to wrap herself along the length of his body, but concern held her back.

He seemed to sag as he turned his head to look at her. "I'm so sorry," he said. "I thought I could do better than that."

"What happened?"

He made a listless, abortive gesture toward his injured side. "When I started to get close to coming the first time, it started to hurt. I thought if I just laid down, I'd stay relaxed and it would be okay, but apparently..." He sighed. "...I was wrong." He gave her a lopsided, sad smile. "This was my first time trying to do this with broken ribs. Lesson learned."

She smiled. "It wasn't _all_ bad, was it?"

He chuckled wearily and turned his head to look up at the ceiling before closing his eyes. "No. Frankly, it's such a relief to have finally come. Three weeks is a _long_ time."

"Yeah," she murmured, and reached out to idly run her fingers through his chest hair, marveling that he had lasted as long as he did with that kind of a wait. Then she lifted her head and frowned. "Hold on—you didn't come at _all_ for the past three weeks?"

"Well, _nearly_ three," he said with a sigh, grimacing. "The first week, it hurt just to lie flat to sleep."

"Yeah, that was the worst part when I broke my ribs," she agreed. "I'd wake myself up with excruciating pain every time I tried to roll over."

He nodded, his eyes still closed. "And sneezing is hell."

She groaned in agreement.

"The second week was better, but the persistent ache didn't really go away until about two days ago." He sighed. "I had finally gotten a good night of sleep and I probably would have tried to take care of myself in the morning, except that I woke up to Morgan, Ellie, Devon, and Clara in here." Chuck waved at the room and shook his head, half-smiling, before letting his hands drop back on the bed.

Sarah frowned. "Why were they all in the bedroom?"

"Oh, they thought it was high time I got out of bed and tried to find you. Except that I had no idea where you were and I thought you didn't want to be found. But I'm still glad they got me out of bed, because you showed up at the Buy More only a couple hours later." Chuck smiled, his eyes still closed. Then he sighed. "I started to try again last night, but I was tired, and the ache became _just_ unpleasant enough that I decided to wait another day. And after everything that had happened, well... I felt more sick to my stomach from worrying about you than horny, so I didn't bother continuing."

"Sorry. I just couldn't deal with anything more last night."

"I know. It's okay."

She frowned, watching his face. "I'm sorry for pressuring you into doing this tonight, if you weren't ready."

He opened his eyes wide to look at her, his brow furrowed. "You didn't pressure me. I wanted this. Even with the pain, I'm _so_ glad we did!"

She smiled, then frowned, looking down at his chest. "Do your ribs still hurt?"

"It's just a mild ache now."

"Good," she said, relieved. "So can I...?"

Glancing at her, he immediately raised an arm. "Oh, yeah." He seemed to relax a little more when she cuddled against him.

After a few seconds of silence, he said, "I'm really sorry. You must be disappointed."

She made a dismissive noise.

"But I didn't feel you come before I—" He swallowed. "—lost control. I'm sorry. I know how much you like being able to finish like that."

She frowned, considering. She didn't normally do this sort of thing, but she was curious. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, anything."

"Do I... ever come from just having you inside me?"

"More often than not," he said.

"Oh." She frowned, surprised.

There was a funny note in his voice. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, it's just—I've never felt quite like that before."

He shifted his head toward her. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged. "You know... like I _could_ come that way."

His head twitched as he raised it slightly, and she glanced at him. He was regarding her with a disbelieving expression. "You never...? Wait, _seriously?_ "

Now it was her turn to lift her head to look at him. "...wait, you didn't _know_ that?"

Combined with the look of disbelief in his eyes, there was now a slow smile tugging the corners of his mouth up. "Nooo," he returned, drawing out the sound. "You've never mentioned it before..."

He pulled his arm out from underneath her and pushed up onto his side, facing her, suddenly _very_ interested. She disengaged, still facing him.

"Wait a second," he said. "Are you telling me that I'm the _only_ guy you've been with that has been able to bring you that way?"

His eyebrows had risen nearly to his hairline, and there was a new light in his eyes that she had a twingey feeling about.

"Yeees..." she said slowly, and now a little reluctantly, because she had a sneaking suspicion about why she might not have told him this fact before. "Well, the only one I can _remember_. Was I with anybody else in the last five years?"

He made a face. "Aside from when Bryce first came back—although I'm not sure you were with him then—there was only Shaw."

"Ah, right."

"Yeah," Chuck replied, making a gesture that vaguely resembled swatting a fly. "But it was over quickly and you seemed to regret it, so it couldn't have been that good." The mild disgust in his features was pushed away by a growing expression of amused satisfaction, and he frowned slightly, something else now starting to bring a glint into his eye. "So I'm really the only one?"

She shifted in discomfort, glancing down at their bodies before she met his gaze again. She wasn't usually one to kiss and tell, but she had gotten herself into this situation, and from the expression on his face, there was no escaping it now.

She gave him a look. "Yes."

And there it was. He was definitely smug.

Although he had lots of adorable expressions, smug was _not_ one of them. Time to wipe it off his face.

"If you start getting smug about this," she informed him, "you're not getting any for a week."

His face cleared immediately, and now there was a kind of puppy-dog desperation. "A whole week?"

She raised her eyebrows.

"So I can't be just a _little_ bit smug?" he wheedled. "Because not being smug at _all_ about this is going to be really, _really_ hard." And smug started creeping onto his face again.

Sarah laughed, then realized she had fallen into his trap when the light changed in his eyes and he rounded on her. Now the smugness mixed with the I-made-you-laugh! delight was sexy as hell, and she loved it when he took her back down to the bed, all confidence and masculinity, and kissed her, laughing against her lips.


	6. Chapter 6

_6_

A short while later, they cuddled together under the covers, which lay bunched around their hips, him in a soft t-shirt and sleeping pants, and her in a relaxed camisole and boyshorts. She knew she wouldn't need much more than that, sleeping beside such a furnace. As she settled against his side, she closed her eyes and relaxed. Yeah, she could spend a lifetime enjoying this.

"So," she observed with a happy sigh. "We're really doing this."

"...yes?" Chuck said. "What is 'this'?"

"Making a life together."

She felt him smile.

"Yeah."

"I still have to resist the urge to pinch myself," she muttered.

"Well, you could always just have me do it instead."

She chuckled and opened her eyes. "So..." she said, "you want to go shopping for a washer and dryer tomorrow?"

"Why, Mrs. Bartowski, I love it when you talk dirty—clothes."

She pinched _him_.

"Ow! What was that for?"

She smirked and caressed the spot. "I don't have to resist the urge to pinch _you_."

"Says who?"

"Says me," she murmured, stretching up to give him a brief peck. "Seriously, though, what do you have planned for tomorrow?"

"Aside from the general goal of making you smile as much as possible, I don't have any specific plans. We could go visit the house, see what you think of it."

She considered this for a moment. "Okay. Do you think we could maybe visit my mom... and Molly?"

"Oh yeah, definitely. It's a school day for Molly, though, so if you want to meet her, we should probably aim to be there in the late afternoon."

"Oh. Is she in preschool?"

"Full-day kindergarten," Chuck said, a proud smile in his voice. "She loves showing you how she can count to one hundred, super fast." He gave a small laugh. "Smart as a whip, and she knows exactly how to charm your socks off, so be on your guard."

"Oh, like _you_ are? I'd bet anything she's got you wrapped around her little finger."

"Very happily so," he confirmed. "She's such a great kid. Our new house is a lot closer to theirs, so we can visit them more often, if you want to." He paused for a moment, then said, "We had been thinking of offering to take Molly for a weekend, to give your mother a break."

Sarah nodded, raising her eyebrows. "And to give ourselves a trial run?"

"Something like that," Chuck agreed easily. "But there's no rush. And we need to finish getting the house ready first."

"Speaking of which, how are we doing for money? Do we need to start looking for work?"

"We have a buffer and could probably live comfortably for a year or two, but I don't really want to burn through our savings that fast."

"I agree. What exactly had we been planning to do with Carmichael Industries?"

"Well, you'd drawn up a whole business plan," Chuck said, a proud note in his voice. "With my computer skills and your knowledge of—I think you called it 'international bad-guy-ery'—" He chuckled. "—we wanted to go into countering cyber-terrorism and corporate espionage, helping government agencies and private companies to make their physical plant and computer systems more secure by—with their invitation—trying to penetrate their defenses, and then providing a report on any weaknesses we find."

"Like the guys in that _Sneakers_ movie."

"Exactly." Chuck blinked. "Wow, you made a nerd reference!"

"What's nerdy about _Sneakers?_ " Sarah asked. "There are no aliens or elves in it."

"It's a movie that nerds love, because there are nerds in it," he countered, then suddenly put on a terrible Boston accent. "'It's about the in-fah-may-shun, Mahty!'"

Sarah lifted her head and gave him a confused look.

Chuck giggled. "Never mind. Ah, so, anyway, you'd contacted a buyer's agent about looking at possible office spaces." He gestured toward his computer desk. "Everything you put together is in a folder over there, in the bottom drawer."

She frowned. "Do we really have the resources to rent office space and start up a firm like this? If we want to impress corporate clients, it has to be good space in a nice part of town. Plus, we're going to need to buy a lot of equipment, maybe hire an administrative assistant..."

"Actually, there's something that might be coming our way soon—how we got it originally is a long story—but the short version is that we might be _very_ well off again in the near future, if Beckman makes good on her promise to expedite the unfreezing of our assets."

"'Again'?" Sarah asked.

"Yeah, it was the seed money we used to start Carmichael Industries."

"How much are we talking here?"

"We're looking at something in the neighborhood of a couple hundred million."

Sarah froze. "What?" At Chuck's nod, she narrowed her eyes and gave him a look. "Are you _serious?_ "

"Yes," he said. "We're owed about a hundred and ninety-eight million dollars."

She scrutinized his face for any sign of a practical joke, but he seemed completely serious. After giving him a few more seconds to crack and admit that he was just pulling her leg—which he didn't do—she exhaled a short laugh and shook her head.

"God, it really _is_ like I woke up in a fairy tale, married to a rich prince."

He chuckled. "Well, it's not really _my_ money, it's _our_ money, and you did plenty to deserve it." When she tilted her head, he nodded and caressed her arm, smiling, although there was a tinge of sadness in his expression. "It's a long story, more than I want to get into tonight." He yawned and shot a quick glance back at the clock on his nightstand. "The short version is that it was a gift from Alexei Volkoff, offered in gratitude for all that we did to rescue a father and daughter who were caught in a bad situation."

She blinked. "Volkoff? The international arms dealer? No wonder they froze the money!"

"Oh, that isn't why it's frozen. Decker was just being an ass after one of Carmichael Industries' missions went south."

Sarah shook her head, lost. "How was Decker involved with Volkoff?"

"He wasn't," Chuck said.

"But isn't Volkoff wanted by the U.S. government? And a dozen other countries?"

"Not anymore," Chuck answered. "He's really a very sweet guy."

Sarah leveled her gaze at Chuck. "Now I _know_ you're just pulling my leg."

"I'm really not!" he protested, giving her a toothy grin and raising his hands.

She glared at him for a long moment. "This better be good."

"Like I said, it's a long story."

"Fine," she huffed. "I look forward to hearing it."

"You will, I promise. And it _is_ a good story, filled with self-sacrifice, love, and redemption. And it ends with a wedding. It's going to take a couple of hours, at least, to tell properly. And my mother should probably be there for you to get the whole picture."

"Okay," Sarah replied. "We'll need to have her over for dinner soon. I'd like to get to know who she is when she's not pointing a gun at me."

Chuck laughed. "Let's do it."

Sarah settled back down beside him and sighed.

 _Self-sacrifice, love, and redemption..._ The words echoed in her mind. It was a good description of the past three weeks, too. She swallowed and cuddled closer for a moment, filled with gratitude for her own story, made possible entirely because of the man lying in her arms.

"So," Chuck said. "Is there anything on your bucket list that you'd like to do before life gets busy again?"

Sarah blinked. "Hmm... I don't know."

"Any hobbies you want to take up? Say, bungee jumping?"

"I've already done that," she said. "It was fun, but I don't feel like I need to do it again."

"Right. Okay. Let's see... What clues have you given me in the years I've known you?" Chuck made a thoughtful noise. "Most of what we do in our downtime is stuff that _I_ enjoy doing, like watching nerdy movies or TV shows, or going out to see bands. Although you _do_ seem to enjoy yourself. And you like good food..."

"Do I have any favorite restaurants around here?"

"Oh yeah, a few." He smiled. "We can go out for dinner tomorrow night. Your pick."

"Assuming my mother doesn't pressure us into staying for dinner."

Chuck laughed. "Good point. She probably will. Speaking of which, we should pick up something for dessert. And maybe a bottle of wine."

Sarah smiled, already picturing the next day spent with him and her rediscovered family. Waking up, making love, helping Ellie and Devon get everything into the moving truck, trying some new food at a restaurant that Chuck promised she would love, driving out to see their new house, planning their projects and imagining the future space, hugging her mother... and meeting her new little sister.

Something warmed in Sarah's chest. She had always wanted a sibling. She swallowed at the thought of getting to know her mother again, and seeing just what a wonderful mother this woman had become to this little girl. If Sarah ever had a child, she would have someone else to go to with questions... and Ellie would probably be full of advice and reassurance, too.

Wow... so _this_ was what having a family felt like. She smiled to herself.

"I can't believe that I can't think of a hobby you might enjoy," Chuck suddenly said.

She adjusted where her head was resting to look up at him. "It's okay."

"No, it's really not," he said, frowning. "Why did I never _notice_ before that we always did stuff that _I_ enjoy?"

"If I didn't enjoy it, too, I wouldn't have done it."

He glanced at her. "Yeah, I guess... But I just feel bad. Okay, _now_ I'm on a mission to find out what you like to do." It almost sounded like a threat.

"There's plenty of stuff I like to do," she protested.

"Like what?"

She shrugged. "I like sparring."

He chuckled. "Yeah, I guess you do. You always give me a great workout."

She grinned, raising herself to prop her head on one hand. "Oh yeah?"

"Even when I had the Intersect, you could still take me. You couldn't always win, but..." He smiled. "It was a fifty-fifty thing. It actually challenged me. You were one of the few people who could."

She raised her eyebrows, but she wasn't entirely surprised. "What do you mean?"

"Well, when I fight using the Intersect, I'm essentially running a program. It only lasts for so long, and then the body-knowledge fades. But it's usually long enough to take out everyone around me in a short match. Maybe two minutes, max."

"Ah," she said. "So the moment you needed to flash again, I'd knock you to the mat?"

"Not quite," he answered with a smile. "I'm not _that_ vulnerable. No, I mean, you could beat the Intersect's program. It's like you're a martial-arts chess master, and as good as it was, it wasn't _quite_ as good as you, because each program could only give me mastery of a single technique at a time—plus general gymnastics. But you could switch fighting techniques at the drop of a hat. Once you figured out which one I'd flashed on, you'd just change to a different one that could take advantage of the first one's weak points. Fiendish. But awesome."

He smiled at her proudly and reached up to stroke the backs of his fingers down her cheek. "It forced me to learn how to defend against those weak points by coming up with my _own_ moves, on the fly. If I still had all the body-knowledge, it worked pretty well. If I didn't, well... I started to develop my own techniques, independent of the Intersect. It could give me a boost, but I had to do the rest on my own.

"Eventually, after training with you and Casey for long enough, I could fight with or without the Intersect. I still preferred to use it if I had multiple opponents, because it could plot an efficient course through the physical space—and all of them—faster than I could do it alone, but I don't _need_ it anymore."

"Yeah, I saw what you did in Berlin. Nice work."

"Thanks."

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I would expect that you'd've developed your own style by now, with that kind of background."

"Yeah. It's kind of a mashup."

"Good," she said. "You'll have fewer obvious vulnerabilities." She gave him a toothy grin, looking forward to trying him out.

"You are officially the sexiest shark I have ever seen," he said, grinning back at her.

She laughed and dropped down to rest her head in the hollow of his shoulder.

"Okay, so... mixed-martial-arts sparring," he said. "I'm sure you could join a league if you wanted to."

"Maybe."

"Do you like to create anything? Be artistic? You're a good cook."

She shrugged. "I can do a few dishes. But I don't really _enjoy_ it. Not as a pastime."

"Yeah, same here."

She suddenly thought of something. "Cirque du Soleil."

"You want to go see a show?"

"No. I mean, sure, but... I've always thought I could do that stuff. I've just never had the chance to learn how."

"Oh, yeah, you'd be _great_ at that." His voice took on a dreamy note. "You in a full-body leotard, doing gymnastics in midair... mmm."

She laughed and swatted him. "I think it would be fun."

"Oh yes, fun, absolutely."

"So, do you want to do it with me?"

"Me? Nah. I'd look terrible in a leotard."

Sarah giggled.

"Seriously," Chuck protested. "I tried pole-dancing with Morgan once. Most awkward exercise class _ever_."

She laughed, her mind rebelling at the mental image. "Oh my God, _really?_ "

"Yeah, he signed us up for the class without knowing what it was," Chuck said, covering his face with one hand. He sighed and drew his hand away. "At least it was fun _looking_ at the rest of the class."

She lifted her head. " _Tell_ me you two didn't just stand there ogling all the women."

"Not _obviously_ , no," Chuck said. "Do you know how hard it is to look at someone when you're trying to flip around a pole?"

"Actually, yes," she said with a smile.

"You can have a hobby that doesn't involve me at all."

"Yeah, I know that."

"Good. Okay. Note to self: encourage wife to run away and join the circus."

She chuckled and settled against him, closing her eyes, and exhaled a long, contented sigh. Warm. Safe. Wow... what a day.

If someone had told her this morning that she would be here right now, she would have laughed in the person's face and walked away. But, amazingly, here she was, full and content and... home.

 _Thank you_ , she thought.

And it had all started because he had found her at the beach somehow. Of all the places he could have looked—

She blinked. "Chuck?"

"Mm?"

"Where else did you look for me today?"

He took a moment to respond. "I... didn't look anywhere else."

She lifted her head. "Really? You went straight to the beach?" Then she narrowed her eyes. "You don't have a tracker on my phone or anything, right?"

"No. We keep the Location Services on our phones turned off most of the time."

She nodded. It was one of the first things she had checked before she went off-grid, hunting for Quinn. "So it was just a lucky guess?"

Chuck got a funny look on his face. "Well, not exactly. It was something Morgan said."

She smirked. "Morgan. How does he keep popping up in these moments?"

"He's just... Morgan," Chuck answered, with a shrug and a smile. "It's how he is. He's got hidden depths. And sometimes, he's so shallow you just want to stuff him in a closet and walk away."

She giggled. "So what did he say?"

Chuck made a face. "It's going to sound so cliché. I thought I had lost you, because I didn't know where you were and I didn't know what to do. He told me to stop thinking and just use my heart to find you."

She crinkled up her features, part of her melting and part of her struggling to believe something so, so... unbelievable.

"And the image that suddenly came to me was the memory of you," Chuck continued, his voice growing softer now, "sitting on that spot on the beach with me, five years ago. It was the beginning of me trusting you. And that was what I needed you to do: trust me." He sighed. "I felt like a fool, driving there, but what did I have to lose?" He ran his fingers up into her hair, his thumb brushing her cheek, his warm hazel eyes filled with affection. "I'm so glad I took the chance. Thank you for taking a chance on me."

She let the tears come a little and smiled down at him, mirroring his gesture with her own. "Ditto."

Then, with a long sigh, she settled back down beside him and closed her eyes. She wanted to stay in this moment forever.

But she couldn't.

Despite their best efforts, she knew this fairy tale would eventually come to an end, and the thought of not having him beside her someday speared her through, cold and hard.

This whole evening had been amazing, but it felt so _precarious_. If she hadn't noticed the exit sign off the freeway, if she hadn't felt that strange tug, if she hadn't followed it, against all reason...

Then a chill ran down her spine and she opened her eyes.

He had been led to her by something that _he_ didn't understand, either.

"You okay?" She heard him ask, a slightly worried note in his tone, and she smiled. God, it was really nice being known this well.

"Yeah," she said slowly. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

She drew in a deep breath, blew it out. "Chuck, do you believe in God?"

"Oh. Wow, ah, good question." He shifted and she adjusted her position to match his. He lifted one hand briefly, palm up, before dropping it back on the bed. "I guess... yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Why?"

"I don't know," he said, shrugging. "I never really questioned it before. If I had to say... there's too much order in the universe. Like I'd have to have _more_ faith to believe that all of this happened by accident, you know?"

Sarah wasn't sure, so she made a noncommittal noise.

"Why do you ask?" Chuck said. "What do you believe?"

She idly stroked a wrinkle out of his t-shirt. "Did you ever go to church... or—" She turned her head to look up at him. "—or synagogue, or something?"

"Yeah, as a kid, when my mom was still with us. I guess we were Catholic. Christmas and Easter, you know, and then the big family dinner afterward."

"Yeah," Sarah said, grinning as she relaxed her head and nestled it in the hollow of his shoulder again. "You guys _do_ seem to be big on family dinners, if all the photos are any indication."

"Best. Time. Ever," Chuck declared. "When we successfully completed a mission, and everybody had survived and still had all their fingers and toes? Time to break out the chardonnay and the pepperoni chicken! Even Casey would be smiling."

She giggled, imagining it. "Wow, you invited him?"

"Yeah, he's family," Chuck said.

She smiled. The thought of her and Casey, family. She could see what Casey meant when he said that Chuck had softened both of them.

"Well, actually, Casey _did_ lose a toe protecting me once," Chuck mused. "But that's it. Just one toe."

"That's more than enough."

"Oh, absolutely. So, why the God question?" Chuck asked. "What do _you_ believe?"

"Before all of this," she answered, "I probably would have said I didn't believe in God. We make our own destiny, and there's nobody looking out for me but me. But..." She trailed off with a frown, trying to put her thoughts into words. "Do you ever feel like there might be... more, beyond what we can see?"

Chuck was silent for a long moment. "Sometimes."

"I mean, you found me."

"Yeah."

"Just before you found me," she said, furrowing her brow, her words halting, "I... felt something."

"What was it?"

"I don't know. A feeling? Like everything was going to be okay, and I wasn't alone."

"You're not," he agreed, rubbing her back. "Where is all this coming from? You've never talked about God before."

"It never came up? Even though we had a wedding in a church?"

"Think about it: we had _Morgan_ officiate."

She laughed. "Good point."

"Surviving from one day to the next took most of our energy," Chuck said. "When we had downtime, we usually just relaxed and enjoyed being together."

She gave a short hum of acknowledgement.

"Seriously, though," he said. "What's prompting this? Are you worried about something?"

"Not exactly."

At his look, she sighed, then frowned as she tried to find words.

"When I joined the CIA," she began, "I soaked up everything they could teach me at The Farm. I challenged myself physically and mentally. Whatever goals the instructor set, I'd choose something just a little bit _more_ , and it served me well. Graham was pleased. I had more latitude than a normal rookie. I got better assignments. I was good at my job, and I felt like I had finally found my place. People respected me, wanted me. I thought I had it all... but I didn't."

"What do you mean?" Chuck asked quietly.

She sighed. "If there's one thing they _don't_ encourage at The Farm, it's thinking too much about _why_ you're learning all these skills. You get taught the hows, and the uses, and the mindset that makes you willing to believe that the people who are calling the shots are making the right calls. You're defending your country, protecting all the innocents—but nobody pretends that you're going to be an innocent while you're doing it. If you can step up and handle that, then good. If not, here's the door."

He grunted in agreement.

"It's considered _strength_ that you can lie and steal and kill," she said. "And I know what you said earlier, that you wouldn't be here right now if I couldn't do exactly what I do."

"But..."

She drew in a deep breath and frowned. "But there's one part of myself that I've never challenged. I've _avoided_ going near it. And being around you, watching how you live... how you love..." Her voice shook a little, so she swallowed, then lifted her head to look at him. "...and how you still succeed at being a spy... It makes me think that maybe I should try."

He rubbed her back, quiet and reassuring. "Try what?"

"Challenging my... soul?" She frowned, shaking her head. "See? I don't even know what to call it."

"'Soul's as good a word as any," Chuck said, smiling.

"When I was on that beach, before you came, I thought I had no safety net." She waved a hand. "I _do_ have resources. I can disappear, and I'll be fine. But when it came to having _someone_ I could go to... I was alone." She frowned, staring at nothing. "It was just me and the Painter."

"The Painter?"

She ducked her head. "I know, it sounds silly."

"No," Chuck said, and he shifted, reaching up to hold both sides of her head, encouraging her to look at him. "No, it doesn't." When she didn't look away, he released her and returned to rubbing her back. "Tell me."

She grimaced. "I was probably just imagining it."

"You've got great instincts," he said. "Do you _think_ you were just imagining it?"

She frowned. "...no."

"Okay, then," Chuck said with a shrug. "Tell me. I'm not going to laugh at you, even if you say you saw a cloud shaped liked Bob Ross."

She giggled, then sighed. "No, it wasn't like that. I didn't _see_ anyone. It just felt like..." She squinted in thought. "...how I felt in that moment was reflected by it all. You know, the restlessness of the waves, the gray sky, only a little bit of sunlight. But it was beautiful, too. I felt like it was a message." She winced, her eyes flickering to Chuck's. "Dumb, huh?"

He was frowning. "No..." he said slowly. "What was the message?"

"I don't know. Maybe... like I was understood? Valued? As if it was all there for me to see?" She expelled a breath. "When I _say_ it this way, it sounds delusional."

But Chuck was just frowning at the ceiling.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

"I wonder..." he murmured. "Sometimes I miss it."

"Miss what?"

"That sense of being connected to something... larger. I think maybe I used to believe more, when I was a kid, but then with everything that happened..." Chuck swallowed. "We had to fend for ourselves. The people who stuck around, like Morgan, became our family. And it was the kindness of strangers, people like Magnolia, that made it bearable." He laughed bitterly. "And lots and lots of therapy."

Sarah laid her head back down, watching him.

Chuck shrugged. "Ellie and I tried going to church for Christmas Eve once, right after Dad left, but it reminded us too much of Mom and Dad, and it was all so... not us. Strict rituals. Big and echoing. It didn't feel personal at all." He turned his gaze to Sarah. "Christmas was always the two of us, sometimes Morgan and his mother. Then Devon. Now it's Clara, and my mother, and Casey, and Alex, and you. I'm looking forward to inviting Emma and Molly this year. And I wouldn't be surprised if Gertrude got invited, too."

"Isn't she Jewish?"

"See, that's just it," Chuck said, frowning at Sarah. "Christmas is about family, about being with the people you love. Religion just gets in the way."

Sarah blinked. "Oh."

His eyebrows rose, and he said quickly, "That's not to say that I'm against you exploring it, but just that... well... How many wars have been fought in the name of religion? I want to care about _people_ , not about dogma and _labels_."

"Me, too," she said, smiling.

Chuck frowned. "So... do you think the Painter was saying that you're supposed to go off and find religion?"

"No." She gave him an incredulous look, but then softened her features. He had promised not to laugh at what she said; she wasn't going to mock his questions, either. "Sorry. No. I just felt like I was accepted. _Me_. Even after everything I've done. Like maybe I don't _have_ to be on the outside anymore, even though I'm not innocent."

Chuck's eyes grew damp, and he stroked her arm. "No, of _course_ you don't!" He gave her a sad half-smile. "Is that really what you thought?"

She frowned, sighed, and flopped over onto her back beside him, kicking the covers a little as she went. "Maybe not in so many words, but... yeah." She frowned up at the ceiling. "You changed me. You changed me before, and you changed me again during these last three weeks."

"To be honest," Chuck said, carefully rolling onto his side to face her. "I'm not sure I did. You might not realize it, but you're not so different from who you were before. You're a lot bigger than you think you are."

She turned to look at him, arching one eyebrow, and he dropped his head in chagrin, then lifted it to smirk at her.

"There's a lot more to you than maybe even you realize," he tried again.

"Yeah," she said, smiling at the ceiling and remembering the mission logs. "But you _did_ change me. You say I woke you up..." She reached out to cup the side of his face. "...but you woke me up, too. "

His brows drew down, but he was smiling. "In what way?"

"You made me realize what I was missing. You offered me acceptance, forgiveness, support... love. Real love. Not the using kind. The kind that hurts, but loves anyway."

His eyes were wet as he bent to kiss her, and she returned it, putting her hand on his waist with a soft sigh.

When he drew back, his eyes were alight with joy.

"Well, I _will_ say one thing about you is different."

"What's that?"

"You're certainly willing to tell me a lot more about what you're thinking and feeling."

Her brows drew down. "Really?"

He nodded. "Yeah. And I really appreciate it. Thank you."

She rolled toward him, curling in against his body, and he kissed her hair.

"After how much you've told me about yourself," she murmured into his chest, "it feels like the right thing to do."

"Oh, I'm _not_ complaining," he answered, a smile in his voice. He wrapped his arms around her, and she settled back into the comfortable place, intertwining her legs with his as he pulled the covers up over them.

She lay quietly in his arms for a long moment, then said, "I have a safety net now, and it seems like it's completely thanks to you."

"No," Chuck protested.

"Well, all of my friends and family are _your_ friends and family," she explained, looking at him. "It sounds like I wouldn't even have my mother back if it weren't for your help."

He tilted his head slightly on the pillow. "...I suppose that's true." He frowned. "That was something you said you didn't like about your relationship with Bryce."

"What?"

"On our first date," Chuck said. "You told me you broke up with him because you realized that all of your friends were really his friends."

"Oh." She furrowed her brow slightly. "I must have just fed you that line for my cover."

He chuckled. "Okay, so it wasn't _all_ real."

"No," she agreed with a smile.

"You _have_ had trouble making your own friends," Chuck said. "You came close, once, but it turned out the woman was an assassin who was trying to kill Morgan."

"Figures," she said dryly.

He gave a half-laugh, half-sigh. "Yeah. Story of our life. Well, maybe if you take up a hobby, you'll make some real connections that way."

"Is that what normal people do?"

He laughed. "Something like that."

She smiled. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Good."

She lay still for a long moment. "It's just... As much as I want to believe that we can ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after in retirement, I've got a nagging suspicion that the Intersect isn't..."

She rolled away from him and lay back, frowning up at the ceiling.

"Put it this way," she said, turning to look at him. "Whether or not you believe Decker's conspiracy threat, whoever the people are who have been trying to exploit the Intersect all this time aren't going to just give up after investing all these resources into the project. You're going to remain a person of interest to them. From what you've told me, we've dealt them some significant blows lately, but I'd be very surprised if the Intersect technology was actually destroyed along with Quinn. We bought ourselves some time, but someone is eventually going to come knocking."

"But Decker said it was Shaw who was pulling his strings, and we took down Shaw."

"Quinn wasn't working for Shaw, was he?"

Chuck frowned. "Not that I know of. He had a rogue research facility located somewhere in Japan."

"From what you've told me, I find it hard to believe that Daniel Shaw was the mastermind behind it all. He feels like... like a bishop on a chessboard. Relatively powerful, able to cut wide swaths across some things, but still not a queen, or a king."

Chuck's frowned deepened. "I... am not sure what to think of that theory," he said, "but can we not go inviting trouble to find us? We wanted to retire, we are retired, let's go do the kinds of things retired people do. But, you know, sans the dentures."

Sarah smiled. "Yeah, okay. Sorry. Done. I will not say the 'I' word for as long as we are in retirement."

Chuck eyed her. "Are you planning to come out of retirement?"

"No... not _planning_ , exactly, but I want to be prepared. Can you really see me gardening and spending my days playing bingo at the community center?"

Chuck laughed. "Playing bingo? Not on your life. Gardening? Maybe." His expression softened and he carefully rolled toward her, reaching out to run his palm along her side. "We _do_ have a big back yard now."

She chuckled and shifted, rolling to spoon up against him. "Okay, I'll consider it."

He propped his head up behind hers. "So... 'challenging your soul'... that's definitely something a retired person could look into."

"Where do you think I should start?"

"How about the library?" he suggested. "You could ask a librarian for a good starter resource, maybe something that gives an intro to philosophy and all the major world religions. You could just wander around, see what's out there, see if anything clicks with you." He paused for a beat. "Do you have a library card?"

She blinked and frowned. "I don't think I've ever had a library card."

"All right, then, Sarah Bartowski. It's settled. We are getting you a library card."

She smirked. "I could just try Google."

Chuck made a disgruntled noise. "Maybe later. You don't want to start with the internet, not for a question like this. It's a firehose of misinformation and crazy."

"That's true." She hummed in agreement. "Okay, so it's a date." She grinned and wriggled against him. "I love that you're taking me on a date to the library!"

He laughed and kissed her cheek. "I _knew_ you could do this!"

She frowned. "Do what?"

"Thrive, even in these circumstances. God, I love you."

She smiled.

Straightening out with fake pomp, he waved his arm like a prince bowing to a princess. "It would be my honor to escort you through the Dewey decimal system, my lady."

"The what?" She frowned, twisting to stare back at him. "I thought I was going to look for philosophy, not math."

Chuck blinked, then grinned. "You are so cute," he said, chuckling and curling up behind her again. "The Dewey decimal system is how they organize the books in a library. You know, the 500s are for science, the 600s are for technology, the 700s are where they put all the comic books and graphic novels..." He squeezed her close to him for a moment. "I love discovering the gaps in your knowledge!"

"Yeah, well," she said, "I've still got a pretty big one."

At that, Chuck sobered, but she only smiled.

"Tell me a story about us, Chuck."

He returned her smile, his eyes growing a little damp. "Okay, which one should I pick?"

"Pick a funny one with a happy ending," she said, and he grinned, drawing her close and settling in for one of his favorites.

* * *

 _Author's Notes_

Yes, I do have a sequel planned! It's set 11 years in the future, and it's about _way_ more than just their relationship. Think _Chuck_ crossed with _The Incredibles_ , but a lot less cartoonish, because one thing _Chuck_ was so good at was turning on a dime from laughter to heartbreak. Plus, the show's writers only barely scratched the surface of the Intersect technology, and it has _so_ much potential! If you'd like to be automatically notified when I start posting the sequel, just subscribe to follow me as an author.

I welcome all feedback, including critique and suggestions for improvement, so feel free to tell me what you think, and thanks for reading!

—

I'm enormously grateful to all my beta readers, **Jean** , **tbborrell** , **Jamie** , **jenditomasso** , **ndnickerson** , **n7agentbartowski** , **Rob M** , and **Spawn Hades** for their invaluable input and excellent critiques on this story. Some of them, like **Jean** and **tbborrell** , actually waded all the way through it more than once!

I must acknowledge **Thinkling** 's story _Sarah vs. Finding Herself_ for inspiring a number of the concepts that I used in this story. If you're looking for another follow-up to the _Chuck_ TV show, I can highly recommend that story.

Many, many thanks (and a standing ovation!) go to Josh Schwartz and Chris Fedak, and all the show's writers, crew, and cast—in particular, Zachary Levi and Yvonne Strahovski—for bringing such wonderful characters to life. You all are freakin' _awesome_. :)

Last but not least, I'm also grateful to my husband and daughter, for all the ways that they challenge me and show me grace; and I'm grateful to God, for the inspiration to write in the first place, and for the way He patiently teaches me as I go along.

—

I drew on the following source for this story:

"Feeling Good", music by Anthony Newley, lyrics by Leslie Bricusse, 1964. Referenced performance and arrangement were by Nina Simone, 1965.


End file.
